Paul Wang

Wanted: Topics for May

Please choose one topic from each of the lists below, and reply with the respective letter and number of your chosen topics in the comments below.

Voting will go until April 23rd, 11:59 PM (Pacific Time). This month's articles were a bit late, so I'm adding some extra time to the counter.

Topics marked with the asterisk (*) have been chosen by backers at the $10-a-month tier. They will be available for voting this month only, unless they are suggested again for June.

Please reply with your choices in the comments below.

A Soldier's Guide to the Infinite Sea

A) Garing, Gutierrez, and Truscott - A History: A brief history of GG&T, from its humble beginnings during the Petty Kingdoms era, through its establishment as a major armsmaking firm during the Wars of Unification, to its current status as the Unified Kingdom's largest gunmaker.

B) The Saintly Martyrs: An overview of the worship of the Saints in the Northern Kingdoms, including biographies of selected Sainted Martyrs, iconography, and cosmology.

C) Old Calligia - What We Know: The Kian poet J'eanne Lieux once said that "The only thing we know about Old Calligia are the lies". While not entirely true, very little of the long-gone northern realm has survived. This essay from the University of San'heu attempts to put together the pieces.

D) Warfare Then and Now: A relatively broad overview of the history of war and warfare in the Infinite Sea, taken from a part of a Callindrian children's book.

E) Edmund Garing, In His Own Words: An autobiographical account of the junior partner of GG&T, edited by the Countess of Welles for her report on the War in Antar.

F) Clerks and Commoners: Selections from a children's book written for the scions of the Tierran nobility, meant as their first real education in the classes and dynamics of the Baneless classes.

G) A Report on Tutors and Tutelage: Commissioned by the Royal University of Aetoria, this report investigates the education baneblooded children receive before they are admitted to the University itself.

H) A Call to Arms to the Faithful of the Tree: A religious tract summarising the worship of the Tree of Life, and calling for a renewed age of religious devotion in an age of Takaran secularism.

I) The Compleat Knight: A somewhat tongue-in-cheek guide to the behaviours expected of a Knight of the Red.

J) The Senior Service: A rather self-serving pamphlet extolling the virtues of the Royal Tierran Navy in the context of the army's new prominence following the Dozen Years' War.

L) Notes on a Crisis Pt 2: More collected notes from Queen Isobel's private correspondence, dealing with the fallout of her use of the royal veto.

M) A Record of the Great War in the North-West Pt 3: Having moved from the "Near West" to the "North West", our intrepid bureaucrat reaches what would later become the island of Warburton, where he gets a first-hand look at naval operations.

*N) From the Papers of Princess Khorobirit: A series of notes from the private correspondence of Anna, Princess Khorobirit, regarding the characteristics of the various regiments of Tierran cavalry.

*O) Stories of the Grey Riders: A collection of tales and rumours circulating amongst the Antari peasantry and nobility, regarding the Tierran Royal Dragoons.

*P) Regarding the Disposition of the Fleet: A report regarding the force levels of the Royal Tierran Navy, prior to the outbreak of the civil war.

*Q) The Journal of Petty Officer Alvarez, RTN: A journal recovered from the wreck of HMS Rendower, detailing the events of her ill-fated final voyage.

*R) The Sketches of a Portraitist: A collection of rough sketches of the current leaders and crowned heads of the Infinite Sea.

*S) On The Treatment of the Blood: A few brief testimonials from Banebloods in places where their blood does not automatically render them nobility

*T) Excerpts from the History of the Callindrian Kingdom: Banned by the Orodini following their return to power, Marchesa Vittorio di Malacresta's History of the Callindrian Kingdom is still considered one of the best sources on the kingdom's early history, including the events of its foundation during the Third Great War, as detailed here.

An Adventurer's Guide to the Fledgling Realms

1) On Creeds and Cults Pt 3: Folk traditions, cults, and other "marginal" belief systems throughout the Concordat.

2) The Most Depraved Sicko I Have Ever Met Pt 2: Before he became Baron of Aldersrill, Baron Maximilian (not yet known as 'the Lewd') was Lord of Helmcrest. Before he was driven out of Helmcrest by an angry mob, he had dinner with Mundy of Bridgeport. Hilarity ensued.

A Creator's Guide to Writing and Worldbuilding

A1) Using Genre Conventions: Every genre comes with its own traditions and conventions. Some of them can be helpful, others... less so. How do you tell the former from the latter?

A2) Scale Modelling a City: The size of population centres are constrained by terrain, technology, societal norms, and the force of history, let me explain how you can use those things to make your fictional cities more realistically sized.

*A3) On Insurgencies: Congratulations, your home is under enemy occupation. How do you make it not under enemy occupation anymore?

April Content Update: Indirect Wars

Wars are not easy to write, wars in which the two central countries involved aren't actually at war, even more so. This type of conflict, sometimes known as a "proxy" war, is one where the two parties directly engaging in combat aren't just themselves fighting each other, but representatives of two or more other parties which are backing one side or the other. Country A supports Country B in fighting Country C, who is supported by Country D and so on. History is full of these conflicts: the Romans paid their neighbours to fight for them and against others who might cause them trouble. One of the reasons the Thirty Years' War was so destructive and lasted so long was because outside powers began involving themselves in what was originally a civil war within the Holy Roman Empire. Britain spent much of the 18th and 19th centuries paying other European powers to fight for them. Even today, the Russian Federation funds proxies in West Africa while fighting an actual direct war in Ukraine.

So, say you want to add this sort of setup to your own setting. I can see why you would. Not only does it offer all the regular narrative hooks and themes of armed conflict, but it includes a second layer of them, which is ripe for more storytelling: those doing the fighting wonder about the motives of their benefactors, those in leadership positions of the two parties directly engaged can have conflicts with their supposed allies, and wonder whose interests they're really serving. Meanwhile, the benefactors of the two sides might maintain peaceful - or even civil relations with each other, creating an interesting situation where the two "benefactor" parties are both at war with each other, and not at war with each other. There's plenty of material for political intrigue, espionage, skullduggery, and diplomatic tension on top of what a wartime setting already provides.

At its basic level, this setup needs two pairs of opposing parties, those directly engaged and those supporting the two directly engaged parties. Note that I say 'parties' here and not countries because not all of these conflicts are between two countries. Sometimes, these conflicts are civil wars, in other cases, they're between rival alliances. In whatever case, these are the two sides who are doing most of the heavy lifting and directly doing the fighting with each other.

It's important to note here that if these two parties don't actually have any outstanding conflicts or reasons to go to war, you won't actually have a proxy war. History has shown that no amount of manipulation will force two sides to go to war with each other for a protracted period of time if at least some part of those directly engaged parties don't want to fight. The idea of outside powers turning two groups who have no reason to fight against each other is something firmly within the realm of bad fiction, and the pseudohistorical narratives of the more cursed breed of extremist ideology. The Korean War was a proxy war where North Korea was heavily supported by the PRC and the Soviet Union, but there would not have been a war in the first place if North Korea (or at least, Kim Il-Sung) hadn't wanted to reunify the Korean peninsula by force - and if South Korea hadn't committed to violently resisting the invasion of their country. Likewise, even the strongest diplomatic inducements will not make a country go to war unless its people or its leadership feel like their interests are being served by it - which is why Italy sided against its own pre-war allies in WWI, and Ireland remained neutral in WWII, despite being offered Northern Ireland if they joined the Allies.

So, we have a 'normal' war between two parties, what makes this a "proxy" war?

First of all, it's important to remember that "proxy war" is a term which is used from the perspective of those outside the conflict who are supporting one side or the other within it. To those doing the fighting, it's just good old fashoned normal war. The fact that other powers are supporting them might be welcome, but the conflict is still defined by the directly engaged parties: outside support might determine the course of that war, but there would not be a war in the first place if the two directly engaged sides hadn't resolved to fight.

Of course, that doesn't mean the supporting powers have the same interests as the ones who are directly engaged. Usually, the fact that those supporting powers have differing goals is one of the main sources of tension this setup introduces. While supporting power usually wants the side they're backing to win, they generally want them to do so for their own reasons, whether those reasons be ideological (to prevent the spread of a rival ideology or to spread their own), diplomatic (to create a friendly power in the region), economic (to create a captive market or trading partner through the use of loans and economic concessions in compensation for aid) or in the case of some kinds of governments, even familial (this would be more common in settings where monarchs still hold power and royal houses intermarry with each other regularly).

It should also be noted that supporting powers can also have more sinister motives. While they can't necessarily force two parties to go to war with each other, they could certainly take advantage of the resulting conflict without even committing to a side. The PRC sold weapons to both sides of the Iran-Iraq War, for example, which served their interests by profiting from a war which they didn't really have any ideological or geopolitical stake in.

So, how does this support manifest? I've already mentioned one example: the sale or donation of weaponry. This is particularly the case when the supporting power has much greater industrial capabilities than the directly engaged power - although this is not always the case (see: North Korea donating ammunition to Russia). The most famous example of this is the American Lend-Lease programme of the Second World War, which allowed the US to leverage its industrial capacity to support the Western Allies (and later, the Soviet Union and China) without directly going to war with Nazi Germany, Fascist Italy, or Imperial Japan - until the latter of those powers brought the US in directly.

Usually, this sort of aid comes with strings attached. In the case of direct arms sales, these naturally have a price tag. In the case of donations, there's usually an expectation that the receiving party remain friendly to the donating one, both out of sheer gratitude and because the more the receiving party's armed forces rely on those donated weapons (made by foreign factories and loaded with foreign ammunition), the more dependent they become on future arms sales, which naturally require friendly relations. This is one of the reasons why the Soviet Union (and later the Russian Federation) continually supplied vast amounts of military equipment to countries around the world - not just as a means to keep its bloated military-industrial complex viable, but as a form of diplomacy. This tends to be also tends to be why some countries maintain their own domestic defence industries even when they might not necessarily be economically advantageous (France, Israel, and Japan come to mind), because doing so allows them to assert a degree of independence which they might not have were they wholly dependent on a foreign supporter.

In a related case, aid sometimes comes in the form of money directly - often used to pay for the purchase of weapons, but also for other wartime expenses. For example, during the Japanese invasion, the Nationalist Chinese government spent an enormous amount of money not only on the army they needed to keep the invaders at bay, but also to shelter and feed the tens of millions of refugees fleeing Japanese atrocities in the areas they were occupying. A lot of this money was provided by interest-free loans by the Soviet Union and the United States, who were also providing limited amounts of weapons at the same time. Likewise, the British quite famously supported its allies on continental Europe with "subsidies" to make up for its relative inability to contribute militarily with its relatively small and ill-equipped army.

A supporting power could also choose to go a step further, providing "advisors", or professional military personnel who are usually expected to stay out of direct combat, but provide advice and support to the side their country is supporting. These soldiers exist in a sort of legal grey area, because they're technically soldiers helping one side of a war, but they're also still usually connected with the government that sent them. Sometimes, those advisors will actually engage in combat - but with legal obfuscation to keep them from being seen as a supporting power's combatants. One example of this was the famous American Volunteer Group, or "Flying Tigers", of WWII: US Army fighter pilots who officially resigned from service to fight as "mercenaries" in China against the Japanese. They brought with them modern fighter aircraft - which the Nationalists desperately needed to fight off regular Japanese terror-bombing raids. Officially, the AVG were mercenaries fighting for the Chinese Nationalists - but had American training, and American equipment.

On the other hand, you have the Soviet advisors who accompanied the MiG-15 jet fighters the Soviet Union sent to North Korea during the Korean War. While these were experienced pilots, they were explicitly not allowed to fly combat missions (though some American pilots swore that some particularly skilled pilots were genuine Soviets). Usually, they sat back at base, training new pilots, and occasionally reading the manual to imperfectly trained North Korean pilots over the radio.

Advisors can be a double-edged sword. While the power that sends them is often possessed of a better equipped and better trained military, that doesn't mean the training in question is the kind that will be helpful. During the early stages of the Vietnam War, American advisors who'd cut their teeth in conventional wars like WWII and Korea pushed Saigon to abandon its existing strategy of trying to build political legitimacy in the countryside. Instead, they conditioned US aid on the South Vietnamese adopting ultimately wasteful search-and-destroy missions, under the impression that the enemy they were fighting could be defeated conventionally. Likewise, during WWII, American advisors (in particular, Joe Stilwell, a man of considerable incompetence and a truly gigantic asshole, if his journal entries are any indication) were appointed to high posts within the Nationalist armies as a condition of American aid - where they proceeded to get a whole lot of Chinese soldiers killed through demanding aggressive and pointless attacks, and campaigns which really didn't do anything except waste the best trained troops the Nationalists had at the time.

These two instances aren't unique ones. I could probably name half a dozen examples from American military history alone. To talk about the other militaries who fell into the same trap of sending officers to order local forces to fight the wrong kind of war would require an entire book, if not an entire bookshelf.

Last of all, there's the possibility of the supporting power sending troops to support one of the directly engaged parties directly. By this point, the term 'proxy war' could seem more like a polite fiction than anything else. The idea that the Vietnam War was a "proxy war" for the US seems pretty disingenuous once you remember that the US committed hundreds of thousands of troops, and ended up signing a separate peace with North Vietnam. Likewise the involvement of hundreds of thousands of Cuban troops in the Angolan Civil War. However, powers which have an interest in not being directly involved often try to maintain that fiction. For example, during the Korean War, instead of directly deploying the PLA, the PRC created a second parallel force called the People's Volunteer Army, which was supposedly made up of PLA troops who'd crossed the border of their own free will to fight under North Korean command - something that was done to avoid direct confrontation with basically the rest of the planet (it bears repeating that they and the North Koreans were technically fighting a UN peacekeeping force).

However, regardless of diplomatic doublespeak, by this point, a proxy war has more or less become a normal war for the supporting power sending the troops, so this is the point where I'm going to stop.

Naturally, this is just a very simplified overview. History (and the news) are full of examples of how the variations of this basic model of conflict can play out. However, I hope I've been able to give you something of a framework as to how those conflicts can be understood.

April Content Update: The Most Depraved Sicko I Have Ever Met Pt 1

Now. as I'm sure you're all aware by now, I've run into some truly messed-up people over the years: bandit kings with daddy issues, torturers who got off on their work, the kinds of petty tyrants who have no joys in life except from making other people miserable, and so on. The sad truth is, the world is fully of those kinds of people, and the stuff they do only makes more of them. It's a depressing cycle, one which adventurers like me aren't really equipped to handle - except maybe through murder, which, obviously, also kinda causes problems along the way.

But you don't want to hear stories about those kinds of people. Those kinds of people aren't just evil or deranged, they're boring. Every village has one, and every town has at least ten. Ask your friends if you don't know who they are - and if you don't have any friends to ask, maybe take a look in a still pool of water and wonder if that person's you.

Anyway, as I was saying, those kinds of evil people are boring, staid, common as rocks on a stream bed. No, you're not here to listen to stories about those losers. You all know those losers. You're here to listen about the kinds of messed up people who are messed up in ways beyond what's normal, the ones who shine as exemplars of what dysfunctional upbringings, personal trauma, and a broken moral compass - wait, do you know what a compass is? It's this Islander device which, never mind, it points at things all the time, that's what's important.

ANYWAY, like I was saying. You're here for the really unhinged shit, and I, Mundy of Bridgeport, am always happy to oblige a promptly paying employer.

Buy me a drink, and let me tell you the story of the most depraved sicko I have ever met.

So no shit, there I was, doing an extended tour of the city of Amberhelm, seeing the sights, and doing my duty to my fellow adventurers by rating each of the city's alehouses by a complex and comprehensive measurement system involving atmosphere, pricing, how much they watered down their house brew, and how much force they used when they threw you out the door. I was only about six in when I overheard a bunch of peasants from the hinterlands sharing some rather interesting rumours. Apparently, the new baron of this place up north was generating all kinds of messed-up stories: he was weird, not just by nobility standards, and not just by Amberhelm standards, but by Amberhelm nobility standards, which is real Court-damned worrying.

For those of you who've never gone that far north: congratulations, you've never known what it's like for the weather to be too cold to bathe for three months at a stretch, I envy you - and at that point back there, I would have envied you even more. I also owe you kind of an explanation. You see, back when Amberhelm was the biggest of the old kingdoms, it lorded over the other coastal realms and sucked all the wealth from the Island trade into itself. It built a whole bunch of grand castles and monuments and that huge ugly sanctuary you might have heard of. Then the Flowering Court went and fucked off and suddenly all the other coastal realms had a lot more useful land than Amberhelm did. Worse, their own Prince decided to create a whole new capital further south, which was great for almost everyone else - but not for Amberhelm.

The end result was that Amberhelm was a big expensive city full of big expensive public buildings and nowhere near enough money to keep them maintained. Every Prince of Amberhelm since has been up to their ears in debt to the Lumberers and Carpenters, which is part of the reason why they have so much Court-damned power up there. To pay these debts - or at least the interest on these depts, the Princes and Princesses of Amberhelm sell off bits and pieces of their demense to anyone who can afford them. The only reason they can do that is because under Amberhelm law, any noble house which dies without an heir has their property revert to the Principality.

The current Princess put an end to that. I have no idea where she gets money from now, I think she's just stopped paying the guilds altogether. In any case, this was decades ago, before our girl Aoife was a lecherous glint in the troubadour's eye - no you can't ask how old I am, stop that.

So, in any case, apparently one of these recently vacated baronies got sold to some strange foreigner from who-knows where, and he was doing stuff that even Amberhelmer peasants were muttering about with terrified looks and hushed whispers. To say that I was interested in getting a look at this weirdo for myself would be something of an understatement.

A bit more questioning - and a bit of sobering up - pointed me in the direction of the Barony of Helmcrest, an unimaginatively named little parcel of land at the foot of the mountains which overlook the Amber Vale - that's the big valley Amberhelm is in, for those of you who can't read a map, or can't read. Everything I'd heard about it before implied that it was a pretty poor place, the soil wasn't much good and the mines which used to sustain the whole region had run dry or been replaced with richer ones further inland generations ago. That only left stonecutting, which wasn't much in demand, and forestry, which was - naturally - in the iron grip of the Lumberers and Carpenters.

As I got closer to the village though, things got really weird. I could still see signs of poverty around: the fields weren't being tended, a lot of the outlying homesteads were pretty much abandoned, I certainly didn't see many people going the same direction I was. But at the same time, there were other signs of the exact opposite. The buildings which were still inhabited looked newly white-washed and well-maintained. The village square had all kinds of goods on sale which I'd never seen before, and the roads, Holy Court, the ROADS! Not only were they well maintained with well-dug drainage ditches and wide lanes, they were paved - but not with flagstones. They were covered in a sort of dark gravel which was stuck to the bed with some kind of magic which I'd never seen. Not until I'd visit the Nizam-i Khazar would I walk on roads so smooth, and even then only in the centre of the biggest cities, not here in this backwater village in the arse end of nowhere.

And it wasn't hard to see why those roads stayed so smooth either - because none of the locals dared set foot on them. More than that, they seemed terrified of their own shadows, peering fearfully around corners, and nervously eyeing the ground as I passed by. That was really weird. Usually, when a village gets a sudden upturn in prosperity, everyone's cheery and blustery, like they’d taken on the world and won. Not here. Here, they were frightened, and given the architectural monstrosity that loomed over them, it wasn't hard to see why.

Castle Helmcrest had probably been a normal keep once. I could still see the square shape of its stone gatehouse and its curtain walls peeking through here and there. But apparently, whoever owned it now hadn't liked that very much. Quite frankly, it looked like someone had ripped off the whole top half of the place, and replaced it with these spiky stone towers and deeply steepled roofs. Honestly, the place looked like something halfway between a sanctuary and a Flowering Court ruin. Some of the walls seemed to be made of something other than stone, others seemed to outright shimmer in the sun. It was deeply unsettling, and this is me talking here, so you know it must have been something weirder than weird.

By that point, I was definitely looking to do some investigating. The strange roads, the looks of terror in the eyes of the locals, and now the castle's unusual architecture had twigged me on to the fact that something was very clearly not right with this place. I had to snoop around a bit, ask some questions, maybe get someone drunk enough to get them to explain to me what was actually going on here. However, before I could even cross the village square, someone else made the first move: a bird dove out of the sky and landed right in front of me. It had a thin strip of... well it wasn't quite parchment, but it wasn't rag either. It was some other kind of thing which I'd never seen before.

And it had a message on it: apparently, my arrival hadn't gone unnoticed, and the Baron Maximilian of Helmcrest had invited me, famed adventurer that I was, to dine with him up in the castle.

Little did I know that I'd just been invited to sit down to dinner with the most depraved sicko I would ever meet.

April Content Update: A Chronicle of the War in the Northwest Pt 2

6/1/Annesouais 25

Your Grace,

This message I have dispatched with the courier from your staff, who I had auspiciously encountered the day before. He had not been able to reach me before my departure from Fananne, and as a result he was obliged to follow along my route of travel over land for a considerable period of time, enduring much hardship and deprivation which was not included within the strict confines of his brief.

For this, I would see the man commended and rewarded, for his behaviour speaks well of his attention to duty and piety to the order of things.

I travel now along what has been officially described as 'dispatch roads', established early in the reign of the previous emperor. These were intended to facilitate traffic between the various posts of the outer and foremost outpost lines present on this island in case that the exigencies of war should make passage of communications by sea impossible. This is to say, that I am using these roads for their original intended purpose.

Unfortunately, I must regrettably report that the way these roads were designed clearly show that those responsible for carrying out the particulars of this scheme never intended the product of their labour to be used for that officially stated purpose.

While the Dispatch Roads were intended to allow the speedy conveyance of priority parcels and messages over land, the way they have been designed makes them unsuitable for the task. Instead of being cut straight and wide through terrain features, they wind and swirl through valleys and around hills. The designated rest stops are often empty of any of the amenities expected of them, and the roads themselves are very poorly maintained. It was understood to me that the original intention of the planners was that the local people would maintain them for their own use, but as the natives of this land constrain themselves primarily to the business of their own regions, they have little need for roads which travel great distances, and neglect the roads accordingly.

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6/12/Annesouais 25

Your Grace,

I write now from a small port on the western coast of the island, where the dispatch roads terminate and passage across the Straits is made available through a series of mail ships. This coast is settled, but very sparsely, as the ground is very unsuited for farming and the weather very poor. The majority of those living here are migrants from the lands of the Santamorids, who have intermixed with the few natives already present here over the course of the past century or so. Some of these leaders - settler and native both - style themselves lords of various demesnes along the coast, using the title 'Ealdor', or 'Earl', which is apparently a sort of petty king amongst the native peoples. As they have proven cooperative in their dealings with the emissaries of the Grand Staff in the past and are hostile to the intrigues of the Great Enemy, they have been allowed to continue onwards unmolested.

The most prominent of these local petty kings rules a small island off the coast which translates as 'Lion's Court' in his own language. This man, the grandson of a supposedly very infamous pirate king, charges tolls on traffic from his island fortress, which he enforces with a small fleet of vessels. This, the local commander of the Foremost Outpost Line has taken advantage of upon his own initiative. He has hired this local ruler to ensure the safety of traffic along the coast and across the straits. While his very minor forces are incapable of causing direct harm to the Great Enemy, his knowledge of the many hidden passages and coves in the islands off the coast ensure that the Eru-venne are incapable of penetrating these waters, rendering them almost entirely safe for passage by out own forces.

As a result, my own journey is expected to be swift and mostly secure, save for the normal hazards of sea travel.

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6/18/Annesouais 25

Your Grace,

I write to you having made safe passage across the strait.

Our vessel was a small but very swift boat of local design, much reminiscent of the coastal craft used by the Castrians. This vessel was approximately thirty paces in length and eight in beam, but possessed two great triangular sails as well as a bank of oars. The hull was very narrow in profile, but was able to comfortable accommodate myself and my attendants.

This vessel belonged to our pilot, a man of the island fortress which I had mentioned previously. He possessed to me the bearing of a bandit, with clothing of many bright colours, which he wore with his chest and feet bare. He carried two short swords fastened to his waist by a belt of twisted multicoloured cloth, as well as four pistols which I could see and a small thin-bladed knife which he used for eating as well as prying open the shells of oysters and crabs. His crew was similarly dressed, though only half a dozen in number. Upon further inquiry, he explained to me that under normal circumstances, such a vessel might have a crew of thirty or forty men, sufficient to pull the oars with were carried alongside to give the vessel extra speed. I suspect that such a large crew would also be of use for overpowering and seizing merchant vessels, which I believe to be the primary occupation of these men.

Regardless, our pilot explained that in this case, he had reduced the number of his crew to render us more at ease and grant us more space for our luggage. Privately, he also intimated that by doing so, he reduced number of men he would have to split the payment with for conveying us, therefore granting larger shares not only to himself, but to the others of his crew, who were all his brothers or other sworn kinsmen.

While very coarse in manner and deed, the pilot and his crew served us well throughout the voyage, having proven themselves canny navigators and very familiar with the local waters. They allowed us as much privacy as were able and disturbed us only when necessary for the proper direction of the craft. I would commend them and those like them to you as useful allies, although I suspect I shall have to make further inquiries as to just how much the local commander is compensating them for such a service.

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6/21/Annesouais 25

Your Grace,

I write to you now having made some acquaintance of the people of this island, who are called the Oi'boue and possess many settlements along the length of the land. Claiming descent from those who travelled from the Homeland many centuries ago, their customs and language are similar to some of the coastal districts of the Northern Dominions. They are well-formed and handsome in aspect, but very indolent, as the land here is very fertile and very little effort is required to render it sufficiently productive to sustain the numbers of people who live here.

As we share many similarities with these people, they are very friendly to us, and have perhaps inherited some hatred of the Great Enemy from their ancestors. As a result, the local commander has deemed it fit to allow these natives continued authority in governing over their lands, requiring only that they answer to him in matters of supply and defence, which they seem most amenable to. However, the Oi'boue are not united, and those who I have spoken to have intimated that other settlements have been hostile to outside interference. These peoples, the local commander has seen fit to ignore, on the grounds that his priorities lie elsewhere.

As for their settlements themselves, the Oi'boue build very handsomely, with stone and wood with great porticos which open the interior spaces to the island's breezes and offers shelter from the heat. Their villages are well-ordered and very rarely walled, for warfare is rare here. Trade, on the other hand, is quite common, as many villages make a point of growing or crafting a single sort of crop or handicraft which they then trade with others along waterways and the roads, which here are in very good condition. The wine pressed here in particular is considered very good, though it is sweeter and heavier than that which I am accustomed to in Midi'haie.

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6/28/Annesouais 25

Your Grace,

I have arrived now at the regional headquarters of the Foremost Outpost Line, and have applied to the staff of the commander here for an interview and permission to inspect the works. However, I have been informed on more than one occasion that the local commander cannot currently entertain guests at this time, and that such matters must wait until a less vigorous phase of operations.

This being said, I do not think I can find fault with the way which the local commander has organised his affairs. The cantonments here are efficiently laid out and well positioned for mutual defence, even though this area has not been under direct threat for some time. Picquets are placed both at land and on sea, and both shore and land batteries appear to be at a high state of readiness. Since my arrival four days ago, I have been challenged multiple times each day by sentries and other sentinels, even far away from the expected avenues of attack or threat. This, I think, speaks well as to the discipline and alertness of the soldiers here.

There is also here a very large civilian establishment, intended for the housing and care of those driven from the areas of active combat by the depredations of the Great Enemy. Having made some attempt to question the local authorities as to how such an establishment is funded and maintained, I received the curious reply that while this encampment exists with the permission of the local commander, it is wholly under civilian administration. I have thus applied to the relevant organs for permission to inspect the aforementioned premises, so that its nature may be better understood.

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7/2/Annesouais 25

Your Grace,

The day after I sent my last letter, I received permission to tour and inspect the civilian encampment. This turned out to be a vast enclosure surrounded by a ditch based on what had previously been a hunting lodge maintained by the local commander prior to the war. The lodge itself now serves as a headquarters for a very great assemblage of tents, housing perhaps fifteen or twenty thousand civilians in all, with subsidiary encampments evidently hosting several thousand more. The encampment is well-laid, with rows of tents nearly organised, washing facilities for each row of habitations, cooking facilities, and organised latrines which have been placed appropriately to stave off disease.

Directing these efforts was an individual whom I had the opportunity to conduct a brief interview with. This is a Great Lady of one of the families resident in the M'hidyossi colonies north of Fananne, who was introduced to me as Lady Octavia of the House of Monteferro, the heiress of a family of great wealth in a city of that region. Evidently, upon the outbreak of hostilities, she proceeded under her own auspices to this island, with the permission and support of her family. From here, she devoted her resources to caring for and resettling those refugees driven from their homes by the attacks of the Great Enemy.

The manner in which this was done was quickly demonstrated, as soon following this interview, a convoy of small vessels came into sight, civilian vessels from one of the island chains currently serving as the forefront of battle. These ships carried with them perhaps three thousand individuals in all - far greater than they were intended to carry - many in condition of great hunger, thirst, or injury. The Lady Octavia quickly organised a space for these refugees, and mustered her staff - of which a considerable proportion is made up of her personal attendants - to prepare to treat the wounded and feed the hungry, hours before the ships carrying them pulled into harbour.

By nightfall, when I was obliged to leave, operations were well underway, and great numbers of the stricken were already being fed and tended to.

Perhaps it would then follow that I would commend this Great Lady to you. She has hitherto refused to accept official support beyond permission, on the grounds that she wishes to remain as impartial as possible. However, once the conflict is brought to a successful conclusion, I believe that some manner of honour may be suitable for one who has done much to alleviate suffering here.

Wanted: Topics for April

Please choose one topic from each of the lists below, and reply with the respective letter and number of your chosen topics in the comments below.

Voting will go until March 21st, 11:59 PM (Pacific Time).

Topics marked with the asterisk (*) have been chosen by backers at the $10-a-month tier. They will be available for voting this month only, unless they are suggested again for May.

Please reply with your choices in the comments below.

A Soldier's Guide to the Infinite Sea

A) Garing, Gutierrez, and Truscott - A History: A brief history of GG&T, from its humble beginnings during the Petty Kingdoms era, through its establishment as a major armsmaking firm during the Wars of Unification, to its current status as the Unified Kingdom's largest gunmaker.

B) The Saintly Martyrs: An overview of the worship of the Saints in the Northern Kingdoms, including biographies of selected Sainted Martyrs, iconography, and cosmology.

C) Old Calligia - What We Know: The Kian poet J'eanne Lieux once said that "The only thing we know about Old Calligia are the lies". While not entirely true, very little of the long-gone northern realm has survived. This essay from the University of San'heu attempts to put together the pieces.

D) Warfare Then and Now: A relatively broad overview of the history of war and warfare in the Infinite Sea, taken from a part of a Callindrian children's book.

E) Edmund Garing, In His Own Words: An autobiographical account of the junior partner of GG&T, edited by the Countess of Welles for her report on the War in Antar.

F) Clerks and Commoners: Selections from a children's book written for the scions of the Tierran nobility, meant as their first real education in the classes and dynamics of the Baneless classes.

G) A Report on Tutors and Tutelage: Commissioned by the Royal University of Aetoria, this report investigates the education baneblooded children receive before they are admitted to the University itself.

H) A Call to Arms to the Faithful of the Tree: A religious tract summarising the worship of the Tree of Life, and calling for a renewed age of religious devotion in an age of Takaran secularism.

I) The Compleat Knight: A somewhat tongue-in-cheek guide to the behaviours expected of a Knight of the Red.

J) The Senior Service: A rather self-serving pamphlet extolling the virtues of the Royal Tierran Navy in the context of the army's new prominence following the Dozen Years' War.

L) Notes on a Crisis Pt 2: More collected notes from Queen Isobel's private correspondence, dealing with the fallout of her use of the royal veto.

*M) A Record of the Great War in the Near-West Pt 2: Our intrepid Kian bureaucrat continues his journey, ever closer towards the real fighting.

*N) From the Papers of Princess Khorobirit: A series of notes from the private correspondence of Anna, Princess Khorobirit, regarding the characteristics of the various regiments of Tierran cavalry.

*O) The Cities of Tierra: An overview of the "lesser" cities of Tierra, from Tannersburg to Havenport.

*P) Stories of the Grey Riders: A collection of tales and rumours circulating amongst the Antari peasantry and nobility, regarding the Tierran Royal Dragoons.

*Q) Colonel Maximilian, Richsgraav vam Holt (Ret): A copy of an official biographical pamphlet printed in preparation for his (ultimately defunct) campaign to be elected Chancellor of the Takaran Empire.

An Adventurer's Guide to the Fledgling Realms

1) On Creeds and Cults Pt 3: Folk traditions, cults, and other "marginal" belief systems throughout the Concordat.

*2) The Most Depraved Sicko I Have Ever Met: The transcript of a tavern tale told by Mundy of Bridgeport, regarding their encounter with Baron Maximilian of Aldersrill, nicknamed "The Lewd".

A Creator's Guide to Writing and Worldbuilding

A1) Using Genre Conventions: Every genre comes with its own traditions and conventions. Some of them can be helpful, others... less so. How do you tell the former from the latter?

A2) Scale Modelling a City: The size of population centres are constrained by terrain, technology, societal norms, and the force of history, let me explain how you can use those things to make your fictional cities more realistically sized.

*A3) Indirect Wars: From Syracuse to Saxe-Weimar, Austria to Angola, the "Proxy War" has been a fixture of human conflict for thousands of years. How do they happen? And how do outside powers participate in them without risking open war themselves?

March Content Update: Addendum - The Sizes of Some Historical Armies

A Note on Sources: A lot of the armies on this list have multiple sizes attested to them in various sources. For the purpose of this reference, I'll be leaning towards lower estimates. Ancient sources tend to exaggerate the size of armies for various reasons. Likewise, historians writing from one side of a conflict tend to exaggerate the size of the enemy's forces to make their own side's victory more impressive or defeat more excusable. Naturally, ancient sources writing about the enemy (like Herodotus writing about the Persian Army at Thermopylae) exaggerate doubly.

ANCIENT

Egyptian Army - Megiddo - 1457 BC

Size: Approx 11 000

Notes: First reliably recorded major battle. Major-effort short range expeditionary force by a major power.

Persian Army - Thermopylae - 480 BC

Size: Approx 200 000

Notes: Maximum effort short ranged expeditionary force by a major power. Supplied by sea, but still exceeded logistical capabilities and suffered severe losses from starvation and lack of supply.

Roman Army - Cannae - 216 BC

Size: 86 400

Notes: Maximum effort force raised by mass conscription from a heavily militarised city-state and its allies (comprising of most of Italy). Operating on home territory.

Cao-Wei Army - Chibi - 208 

Size: 220 000

Notes: Maximum effort short range expeditionary force by a major power (which controlled the most populated and politically unified parts of China). Supplied by, and moved along major waterways.

MEDIEVAL

German-Imperial Army - Lechfeld - 955 

Size: Approx 10 000

Notes: Maximum effort defensive force drawn from multiple component states of the Holy Roman Empire, reinforced by the city garrison of Augsburg. Operating on home territory.

Crusader Army - Jerusalem - 1099 

Size: Approx 12 000

Notes: Major effort long range expeditionary force including major portions of the military aristocracy of Western Europe. Only about 1/4th of force at start of First Crusade due to attrition and lack of supply.

English Garrison - Chateau Gaillard - 1203 

Size: Approx 100

Notes: Typical size of garrison for a major European fortification of the High Middle Ages.

Anglo-Imperial Army - Bouvines - 1214 

Size: Approx 8 000

Notes: Major effort short ranged expeditionary force from two major European powers (England and the HRE). Operating in relatively wealthy and populated region.

Polish-Lithuanian Army - Tannenberg-Grunwald - 1410 

Size: Approx 25 000

Notes: Maximum effort defensive army of two major European powers in personal union. Operating on home territory.

EARLY MODERN

Ottoman Army - Siege of Constantinople - 1453 

Size: Approx 60 000

Notes: Maximum effort by major early-modern power. Force contains sizeable number of full-time professionals, operating very close to home territory.

Spanish Expeditionary Force - Cortes Expedition - 1519 

Size: 630

Notes: Long range colonial expedition. Includes large number of non-combatants. Conquest of Aztec empire only made possible by superiority of equipment, and massive reinforcement by subsequent Spanish expeditions and local allies.

Japanese Invasion Force - Imjin War - 1592 

Size: 162 000

Notes: Maximum effort short range expeditionary force by heavily militarised early-modern power. Number includes support personnel and non-combatants. Force divided into 7 corps, none exceeding 30 000.

Spanish Army of Flanders - Siege of Ostend - 1601 

Size: 80 000 (total)

Notes: Maximum effort force drawn from throughout the territories and allies of a major European power. Rotated in and out of front lines to maintain continuous siege due to logistical constraints. Still loses more than 1/2 of its number to attrition in course of three-year siege.

French Army - Rocroi - 1643 

Size: 23 000

Notes: Typical size of major field army of the period. Operating on home territory.

Coalition Army - Blenheim - 1704 

Size: 52 000

Notes: Major effort force drawn from coalition of three major European powers (Britain, the Netherlands, and the HRE). Comprised of two field armies (Anglo-Dutch and Imperial) which marched separately and united to fight major action.

Franco-Spanish Army - Siege of Gibraltar - 1779

Size: 65 000

Notes: Major effort by two major European powers operating on home or allied territory. Ironically the largest battle of the American War of Independence, despite occurring in Europe.

Franco-American Army - Yorktown - 1781

Size: 19 800

Notes: Coalition force divided almost evenly in number between maximum effort of a minor power fighting on home territory and major effort of long range expeditionary force by major European power.

LATE MODERN

Coalition Army - Leipzig - 1813

Size: 365 000

Notes: Coalition force made up of maximum effort of just about every single major power in Continental Europe (except Napoleonic France, obviously). Made up of 33(!!) individual Army Corps, which marched separately and concentrated into a single force for battle.

East India Company Army - Chillianwala - 1849

Size: 15 000

Notes: Maximum effort short range expeditionary force made up primarily of locally recruited troops of (extremely large) private corporation, bolstered by units of the British Army, seconded to Company control.

French Army - Puebla - 1862

Size: 5 730

Notes: Major effort long range expeditionary force by major European power.

US Army of the Potomac - Antietam - 1862

Size: 87 164

Notes: Major effort by secondary power raised through mass conscription, supplied by extensive railroad networks, and fighting on home territory. Primary field army out of several fielded at the same time.

French Army of the Rhine - Siege of Metz - 1871

Size: 154 481

Notes: Major effort by major power raised through mass conscription, supplied by extensive railroad networks, and fighting on home territory. One field army out of several fielded at the same time.

Ethiopian Army - Adwa - 1896

Size: 73 000

Notes: Maximum effort by pre-industrial secondary power raised through local levies and supplied primarily through traditional means, fighting on home territory. Multiple forces united for single battle.

Anglo-Egyptian Army - Omdurman - 1898

Size: 25 800

Notes: Major effort long-range expeditionary force by major power and its protectorate. Spent two years building railroad and river infrastructure needed to maintain supply needed for a major engagement.

British-Imperial Army - Southern Palestine Campaign - 1917

Size: 18 000

Notes: Minor effort long-range expeditionary force by major power and several of its dominions, drawn from mass-conscript armies raised for First World War. Lack of plentiful railroad infrastructure or supplies of fresh water placed heavy logistical constraints on force.

Allied Army - Vittorio Veneto - 1918

Size: 1 486 200

Notes: Vast majority of force consisted of maximum effort by secondary power (Italy) raised by mass conscription and supplied by railroad. Deployed along front approximately 200 km long in home territory.

NRA Central Army - Shanghai - 1937

Size: 700 000

Notes: Maximum effort force by secondary power (Nationalist China) fighting in single heavily urbanised area on home territory.

Soviet Army - Rzhev - 1942

Size: 3 680 300

Notes: Major effort force by major power (Soviet Union) fighting on home territory, raised by mass conscription and supplied by railroad. Deployed along front approximately 1000 km long.

Burma Area Army - Burma Campaign - 1944

Size: Approx 90 000

Notes: Long range expeditionary force primarily made up of major effort of major power (Imperial Japan), bolstered by collaborator units (Indian National Army). Intended to rely on captured Allied supplies to survive, and was annihilated by attrition when expected victories failed to materialise.

March Content Update: An Account of the Reach Folk

To the far north, beyond the peaks of the Barazin Mountains, lie a land of icy hillocks and pastures, split by many fast-moving rivers with steep and rocky banks. This is the land of what the Khazari and the Barazini refer to as the Reach Folk. Very little is known about these people, even less so in the lands which do not directly border such territory. The Barazini, divided from such lands as they are by the mountains, pay them little attention save to guard the passes against the very rare raid. They are more pre-occupied with their generations-long contention with the Khazari along their heavily fortified and heavily guarded southern border. As the for the Khazari themselves, their means of accessing the Northern Reach comes only through the upstream navigation of the Ullanye and Baraz rivers - with the former being blocked by regular Barazini patrols and fortresses - and the latter being treacherous to navigate at the best of times, and nearly impassable for most parts of the year.

As a result, there are very few reliable sources regarding the Reachfolk. The customary legends of mountain cave-cities with halls encrusted with gems, and adorned with rivers of molten gold can be dismissed out of hand. As can the idea of flying fortresses levitating on the power of some unknown magic, similar to that which sustains certain relics of the Flowering Court, which once occupied the lands of the Concordat. Indeed, the state of the Reach Folk, in the perspective of the few who deal with them in an official capacity might probably be best summed up by the words of a Khazari bureaucrat whose remit included the surveying of the Ullanye River: "they are not wealthy enough to trade with, and not troublesome enough to conquer".

This is not to say that the Reach Folk are not worthy of study. Despite the harshness of the territory which they inhabit, they have evidently not only been able to settle the land in permanent ways, but thrive in conditions which would be considered unsuitable for settlement by most. In a relative absence of wood, of metal, and of land capable of supporting most crops, they have built homes which have evidently lasted for centuries. While the techniques and tools which they use to secure such lives may not seem as impressive or as complex as those familiar to the means by which our own people have tamed the desert, it remains something worthy of study. Last of all, there remains the fact that the Reach Folk, although distant and unfamiliar, remain a people, and it is our duty as scholars and adventurers to learn of all of the world's inhabitants, so that we may better understand the nature of creation.

Unfortunately, such understanding does not come easily. The Reach itself is nearly impossible to approach, and thus all our knowledge comes from Khazari sources, or second hand, via the Barazini Princes, whom we do not have regular contact with. As a result, such sources might be distorted, incomplete, or otherwise create false impressions, being as they are taken from multiple contacts over the course of over a century, across a wide region. However, they do give us a coherent picture of the Reach Folk, no matter how obscured or incomplete it may be.

The Reach Folk are primarily divided into two groups: those who dwell atop and within the hills, and those who dwell along the banks of the rivers.

From what is understood to me, the Hill-dwellers settle in the highest of the hills. There, they dig pits and cover them with sod to shelter themselves from the elements. They sustain themselves mostly from the raising of sheep, and the village claims all it can survey from the top of its hill as the rightful pasture land for its herds. The Hill-dwellers have no kings or lords or officials. Instead, all decisions are taken in common, with the owner of each herd having a say when the village meets at the beginning of each month to decide how things should be done. These votes are not even, for at the beginning of each month, each herd-owner must provide or pledge to provide a certain number of animals from their herd, to be butchered to provide common meat for those without herds and common wool and hides for trade and those who require it. The greater the number of animals pledged, the greater the weight of a given herd-owner's vote in the subsequent deliberations.

Aside from the meat and milk from their herds, the Hill-dwellers also grow plots of root vegetables during the warmest season of the year when such things are possible. These vegetables they harvest and store in the deepest parts of their homes, where they are able to resist decay the longest period of time. The growing plots are manured with the droppings of the herds and the people alike, but even with such efforts, the land is so poor that it is common for a household to share the eating of maybe only a single onion in the course of two or three days.

Lacking a central authority, the villages of the Hill-dwellers are in a constant state of war with one another, although rarely to the degree which we consider normal for warfare in the Empire. Young members of a village who lack animals of their own will often conduct night raids on the herds of a rival village to steal some animals with which to form the foundations of their own herds. Likewise, brawls between villages are common in regards to the possession of a given hillock, especially one which is within view of multiple villages. These combats often have more the character of games or contests than battles, with injuries being common but deaths being very rare. The Hill-dwellers do not hold grudges over these contests, for the great frequency of these "battles" mean that a hillock lost may be regained in a month or two once the wounded have healed sufficiently to contest ownership once again.

However, this does not mean that the Hill-dwellers take no defensive measures. Most villages will possess a strong fence or terrace wall made of sod and fieldstone around its dwellings, with space enough for all the herds of the village folk to be drawn inside in case a hostile raid is discovered. Likewise, most villages also possess a great mound in its centre, upon which sits a tower of stone, or very rarely, wood, from which a village might not only see attacks approaching, but might also be used to survey - and thus claim - greater amounts of grazing land.

River-dwellers differ from Hill-dwellers primarily due to their choice of habitation. Instead of living atop hills, they live by the banks of rivers, near natural fords, or river bends which lead to the formation of lakes, marshes, or other bodies of water which might be made more calm than the typical fast-moving current of the Reach's rivers. These settlements will often further improve the natural features of the waterway by excavating fish ponds, or protected harbours from which boats of sizes ranging from single-person craft to large vessels nearly equal in size to the smaller variety of sea-going galley might be built. 

These boats make for curious sights, for although some small stands of trees exist in the Reach, especially along the deepest of the river valleys, such material remains exceptionally rare and valuable, to the degree that only those villages which live the closest to those meagre forests which exist might even consider building their watercraft entirely out of wood. In most cases, wood is used for keels and frames only, with the rest being filled in with reeds or oiled hides. As a result, these craft tend to be rather shallower and more fragile than those which might be found in the Concordat or the Khazari territories, and those who crew them very rarely stray too far from the waters around their settlements.

As for the settlements themselves, these are of a rather different character than those of the Hill-dwellers. Rather than being dug into the ground, they are raised on embankments of sod and stone, to keep them safe from flooding. The walls too are made from stone, with the use of sod and reeds reserved primarily for roofs. The one exception is the centre of each settlement, a building made entirely of stone, which houses at all times a great fire used to dry and smoke the fish caught by the fishermen. This too is the political centre of each village, for every year, a person among them is chosen whose sole duty is to keep the fire in this stone house fed and burning. They are required to watch the fire at all times, and as a result, is fed and clothed by the donations of the village, and possesses the power to demand a certain amount of fuel as a sort of tax. The importance of this role comes from the fact that the fish which the River-dwellers rely upon for sustenance would otherwise rot quickly in the cold and wet conditions of the Reach, thus making the preservation of such harvested fish to be of utmost importance.

Because the River-Dwellers do not make regular contact with other villages along the river, and do not require the use of pastures as the Hill-dwellers do, River-dweller villages very rarely go to war with other settlements. Indeed, it is very common for Hill-dwellers and River-dwellers to engage in regular trade with one another. The hides which almost all Reach Folk wear are made from the skins of Hill-dweller herds, but are treated with oil made from River-dweller fish to better keep out rain and wind. Fish too is often traded to the Hill-dwellers to help manure their fields, which grow root vegetables sometimes traded to the River-dwellers to supplement a diet which would otherwise be made almost entirely of fish, smoked or fresh.

This forms a picture of the way which the Reach Folk interact with one another, but it is only a rough one, of broad outlines and dim shapes. These accounts come second or third hand, and cannot be verified directly by anyone who might be subject to the rigours of formal scholarship. Thus, it must be said that it is entirely possible such accounts are nothing more than the fanciful tales of ferry-workers and merchants, to be left unconfirmed until the day they the Reach Folk themselves come south to correct the record.

Or until the day we come to them.

March Content Update: A Chronicle of the War in the Northwest Pt 1

Written on the Third Day of the Fourth Month of the Twenty-Fifth Reign of the Annesouais Emperor.

Your Grace,

I have arrived now in the northern anchor fortification of the Outer Outpost Line. The voyage from headquarters passed mostly calmly over open waters. Unfortunately, as we reached the coast, our convoy was attacked by a small squadron of ships belonging to the Great Enemy. Initially, the officers of the ship were hesitant to allow me to observe the action, but they yielded to my authority when I explained to them the nature of my commission.

The enemy's ships consisted of two small fast vessels of the common raiding configuration, with approximately 18 cannon on each flank. They approached as is their custom sailing against the wind, the better to drive our own convoy against them. Evidently, such tactics have become well-known to the men of the Northern Seas Fleet, and as a result, they proceeded very quickly to counter this approach, sending the escorts out as a screen, while bringing the Great Ships' broadsides to bear. Thus the Great Enemy was greeted with heavy fire from our rockets, causing heavy damage to both attackers. However, in their customary disregard for safety, both enemy vessels continued to approach, even while burning. While one vessel eventually broke apart under continued fire, the other was able to close to the range of its guns. I must regret to inform Your Grace that two Great Ships were heavily damaged, and three escorts sunk in the ensuing close action. Loss of life is estimated to be close to fifteen hundred.

In subsequent conversation with the officers of the ship, I have been informed that such actions were very common in the early days of the war, with many raiding squadrons of the Great Enemy penetrating deep past the Foremost and Outer Lines. This evidently caused great distress amongst the people of the Northern Dominions, doubly so when the Great Enemy was able to establish outposts within the perimeter of the Foremost Line. While these outposts and those who collaborated with them were eventually scoured clean and the perimeter itself was re-established, it remains something of a mystery to me how the carefully plotted defences of four successive Emperors could be pierced so easily. 

The explanation of this evident impossibility will likely serve as the main object of subsequent reports.

-------

4/8/Annesouais 25

Your Grace,

Having established myself now in the citadel, I have had the opportunity to begin the mission of investigation with which you have charged me. Over the past three days, I have accumulated several observations which I will elucidate upon here.

Firstly, Your Grace will be very gratified to know that the fortification is in a state of high readiness, and the mechanisms which exist to facilitate the transfer of troops and equipment to the front function at highest efficiency. Already the convoy which I have arrived upon has been rearmed and repaired, to transfer its cargo further forward. The courier ships are even more efficient. I am told that as I am writing this message, my first letter of four days ago may already be sitting in your most illustrious hands.

I have also had the opportunity to interview the local military commander, the Count of Fananne, whose family has held this posting since the establishment of the fortress over a century ago. This proved to be a very worrisome occasion, as while His Excellency the Count provided every hospitality, his preoccupations seemed to be less with the wider war effort and his own contributions to it, but in regards to the well-being of his own fortress and its supporting settlements, as well as relationships with the indigenous peoples, which have grown somewhat strained with the current increased demand for firewood, food, and other supplies which the war effort is in great need of. He has complained to me that what was sustainable with a population of 4000 has become nearly intolerable with the addition of the wartime garrison of 2500, and the constant transit of up to 15 000 troops at a time.

Even more worrisome was His Excellency's reaction when I prevailed upon him to offer his evaluation of the fortress' role in the wider strategic conception. For this, he referred me to his staff, mostly made up of officers which were assigned to him directly following the outbreak of war. The fact that the commander of a military district should be so ignorant of the role of his command in the wider plans of the Grand Staff that he must rely on others to even so much as exposit their significance seems a most unwelcome sign of some form of laxity or derangement within the structure of the local authority.

-------

4/18/Annesouais 25

Your Grace,

Having convened with the members of the Count's staff, I must regret to inform you that my worries regarding the matter have only grown.

It seems that they too share my complaints regarding the limited perspective of the local command, and were able to elaborate further on how such differences in perspective have hindered the war effort.

Simply put, while the staff maintains authority over the direction of the fortress and its supporting facilities as pertains to the war effort itself, the Count not only maintains ultimate command authority, but also seems to be the only figure of authority capable of effectively directing the local population, whose cooperation is strictly necessary for the harmonious function of the fortress' military roles. The staff may prevail upon him to carry out orders from the War Court, but they cannot prevail upon him to do so in the way which is not most advantageous for the local inhabitants, as opposed to that which contributes most greatly to the ultimate victory of the Great Kian and the House of J'ouwe.

Thus, cantonments are placed far away from docks to preserve the existing patterns of farmland. Ships' crews on shore duty are made to dig ditches and defences for local settlements instead of improving the dock facilities. Surplus equipment and supplies are handed out to outlying settlements who are threatened only by the possible raids of the indigenous peoples, instead of being stockpiled so that they may be kept in the case of encroachment or reverse at hands of the Great Enemy.

As a result, a theoretically unified command is in reality two separate command structures, one subordinate to the other, creating a state of affairs where local priorities are of greater import than overall priorities. While rectifying this state of affairs likely requires time and disruption which is unavailable in a time of exigency such as this, such matters should be considered and revisited once the proper opportunities arise.

-------

5/2/Annesouais 25

Your Grace,

I write with the confidence that my previous observations regarding the northern anchor of the Outer Outpost Line has been received and that the appropriate measures to rectify such faults as have been already enumerated are already in the process of being formulated by the relevant organs. As such, I would expect my work in this place to be more or less complete.

However, my findings here must raise a certain degree of concern independent of its immediate implications. Namely, it must be said that if matters of divided command and priority are so prominent here, in a position not so distant or disconnected from central authority, how might similar situations have developed further afield, in the environment of the Foremost Outpost Line? If one might speculate, it is possible that the greater danger and proximity of the Great Enemy's forces may have led to a more acceptable form of command process. Alternatively, distance from central command may have caused similar faults as such as those found here, or other malignant deviations entirely. Thus, I would seek permission to expand the scope of my current commission to evaluate the situation in that quarter.

I would further request the authority to inspect the smaller settlements and positions which form the broad arc of the Outer Outpost Line. As it has become clear that the maintenance and reinforcement of such positions are considered beyond the remit of the current station by His Excellency the Count of Fananne, an accurate accounting of the readiness of such posts would require further inspection by a disinterested party. Thus, I would request the opportunity to make my way to such outposts by land. While this would be a slower process, it will allow me to gain a greater appreciation of local conditions. I will also admit that I am somewhat apprehensive about travelling by sea given previous incidents. I have received some news that the activity of the Great Enemy has somewhat increased in the region over the past few weeks, and I am loath to require your grace to send a replacement so soon after my own appointment.

Wanted: Topics for March

Please choose one topic from each of the lists below, and reply with the respective letter and number of your chosen topics in the comments below.

Voting will go until February 21st, 11:59 PM (Pacific Time).

Topics marked with the asterisk (*) have been chosen by backers at the $10-a-month tier. They will be available for voting this month only, unless they are suggested again for April.

Please reply with your choices in the comments below.

A Soldier's Guide to the Infinite Sea

A) Garing, Gutierrez, and Truscott - A History: A brief history of GG&T, from its humble beginnings during the Petty Kingdoms era, through its establishment as a major armsmaking firm during the Wars of Unification, to its current status as the Unified Kingdom's largest gunmaker.

B) The Saintly Martyrs: An overview of the worship of the Saints in the Northern Kingdoms, including biographies of selected Sainted Martyrs, iconography, and cosmology.

C) Old Calligia - What We Know: The Kian poet J'eanne Lieux once said that "The only thing we know about Old Calligia are the lies". While not entirely true, very little of the long-gone northern realm has survived. This essay from the University of San'heu attempts to put together the pieces.

D) Warfare Then and Now: A relatively broad overview of the history of war and warfare in the Infinite Sea, taken from a part of a Callindrian children's book.

E) Edmund Garing, In His Own Words: An autobiographical account of the junior partner of GG&T, edited by the Countess of Welles for her report on the War in Antar.

F) Clerks and Commoners: Selections from a children's book written for the scions of the Tierran nobility, meant as their first real education in the classes and dynamics of the Baneless classes.

G) A Report on Tutors and Tutelage: Commissioned by the Royal University of Aetoria, this report investigates the education baneblooded children receive before they are admitted to the University itself.

H) A Call to Arms to the Faithful of the Tree: A religious tract summarising the worship of the Tree of Life, and calling for a renewed age of religious devotion in an age of Takaran secularism.

I) The Compleat Knight: A somewhat tongue-in-cheek guide to the behaviours expected of a Knight of the Red.

J) The Senior Service: A rather self-serving pamphlet extolling the virtues of the Royal Tierran Navy in the context of the army's new prominence following the Dozen Years' War.

L) Notes on a Crisis Pt 2: More collected notes from Queen Isobel's private correspondence, dealing with the fallout of her use of the royal veto.

*M) On the Cunarian Dragoons: A confidential report on the status of those Dragoon squadrons still stationed in Fernandescourt.

*N) The Sketches of a Portraitist: A collection of rough sketches of the current leaders and crowned heads of the Infinite Sea.

*O) On the Clans and their Customs: Notes from an ongoing study by Athelstan d'al Havenport, the youngest brother of the Duke of Havenport.

*P) On The Treatment of the Blood: A brief overview of the station of Banebloods in places where their blood does not automatically render them nobility

*Q) From the Papers of Princess Khorobirit: A series of notes from the private correspondence of Anna, Princess Khorobirit, regarding the characteristics of the various regiments of Tierran cavalry.

*R) The Crown of the Santamorids: A brief description of the powers and rituals on the now-defunct royal-imperial house of the M'hidiyossi.

*S) The Cities of Tierra: An overview of the "lesser" cities of Tierra, from Tannersburg to Havenport.

*T) A Record of the Great War in the Near-West: A brief account of the last Kian-Takaran war within the confines of what is now Tierra.

An Adventurer's Guide to the Fledgling Realms

1) On Creeds and Cults Pt 3: Folk traditions, cults, and other "marginal" belief systems throughout the Concordat.

*2) An Account of the Reachmen: North of the Concordat, north of the Nizam-i Khazar, live other peoples. This is a telling of their way of life, as written by a Korilandine scholar and adventurer.

A Creator's Guide to Writing and Worldbuilding

A1) Using Genre Conventions: Every genre comes with its own traditions and conventions. Some of them can be helpful, others... less so. How do you tell the former from the latter?

A2) Scale Modelling a City: The size of population centres are constrained by terrain, technology, societal norms, and the force of history, let me explain how you can use those things to make your fictional cities more realistically sized.

A3) Addendum, The Sizes of Historical Armies: A list of armies from various historical periods, and brief notes on each entry, to give you a frame of reference to determine the right size for your own fictional armies.

February Content Update: Sizing an Army (Pt 2)

Amateurs study tactics, professionals study logistics", or so the old saying goes, an admission that victory more often goes to the side which is better organised, better trained, better equipped, and more able to get more troops to the fight faster than to the side led by the supposed tactical geniuses. With few exceptions, battles are ultimately won by numbers, discipline, and morale - and those successful "Great Captains" who have been lauded as reliable battle-winners in history have often been able to secure those reputations because they benefitted from (or engineered) a system which allowed them to get a better army to the battlefield with concrete advantages which they could then exploit.

But what does all of this have to do with the size of that army?

In the first part of this two-parter, we established that societies are only able to field armies of a certain size based on the structure of their society - that the total number of troops they can deploy will be limited by their political systems, their ability to mobilise resources including money and personnel, and the state of the art when it comes to military technology - which dictates the amount of support personnel needed to maintain the combat effectiveness of the "sharp end" of any army by taking care of equipment, supply, and human needs. Now, we go from those rather general principles to talking about the specifics of field armies - which is to say, armies which are deployed as a single body into campaigns against enemy armies to pursue an operational objective.

A side-note on terminology here: "Operations", or "The Operational Layer" is a modern term, but it's one which has existed de-facto throughout history. It generally means the layer of war between the pursuit of a conflict's political aims (strategy), and the nitty-gritty of how troops fight on the battlefield (tactics). The Operational Layer is what determines the movements of armies outside of, into, and out of battle. It determines where those armies can move, what objectives they are required to capture, and when those armies fight, retreat, pursue, or stand their ground. Basically, if you can think of strategy as the ultimate goal of the campaign, and tactics as the individual battles within it, operations is the sinew turning those battles into a cohesive direction. This is also the layer which concerns itself most with what we're going to be talking about today: the process of supplying armies on campaign outside of the actual battlefield.

An army is ultimately an organisation made up of human beings with human needs and weaknesses: they need food, shelter, and water. If they don't get these things, then they desert, or get sick, or die. Likewise, if you put too many of them together without the knowledge or ability to keep them clean, healthy, and happy, they'll desert, get sick, and die anyway. It bears repeating that before the beginning of the 20th century, deaths by disease and infection killed far more soldiers than battlefield deaths. Even in peacetime, military units stationed in some parts of the world could lose as many as a fifth to a third of their number a year in peacetime, simply because they lacked the appropriate infrastructures of sanitation and supply.

And "infrastructure" is the correct word here. Armies are ultimately fed and equipped by systems of supply, and those systems put hard limits on the size of a particular army just as clearly as a sewer system or electricity grid might limit the size of a city - and those systems are just as similarly limited by the technology available. Everything an army needs has to be carried to it, and unless that army is either accessible by sea, or has access to railroads (or an analogous form of mass transportation), everything that carries everything the army needs also has to be fed, supplied, and organised. There are ultimately three basic ways to do this, each with its own strengths and weaknesses - and each with its own hard limits imposed on the size of the army doing it.

The first is to simply take food and supplies from the locals and make "the war feed itself". This means that the army doesn't need an extensive logistical system, making it the cheapest and least complex way of maintaining an army. There are, of course, obvious drawbacks. The most obvious is that it visits extreme misery on the people who are being "foraged", as their own supplies of food and supplies are taken away from them (do not underestimate how much damage this does. Some of the most deadly events of the 20th century were caused by the confiscation of food to feed industrial or military institutions). This in turn embitters the local population against the army in question, and also causes starvation and destruction which makes that given area less able to support future foraging operations. By the end of the Thirty Years' War, parts of Germany were so "foraged out" that armies basically disintegrated in a matter of weeks simply because they couldn't find anything to forage.

This method also places an obvious limit on the size of the army - which can only be as big as its foraging can support. If the area being foraged is wealthy, well-developed, and flush with surplus food, then it could probably support a much larger army than one going through a barren wasteland where almost nothing grows. Likewise, this is why armies in the old days tended to operate in "campaigning seasons", when there was enough food harvested and stored to make foraging a reliably effective way of feeding an army. Even then, it has to be remembered that before the agricultural revolution of the 18th century, even wealthy agricultural areas were lucky to have a food surplus of 15% or so - which means that the "take" from an army's foraging operations would be limited accordingly. If an army's foraging parties can reach across an area which can support 100 000 people, then it can probably maintain a size of 15 000 or so (total, not just soldiers, but camp followers and support personnel as well). That factor might be a little less because the locals are good at hiding their surplus food - or a little more if the foraging parties are good at extracting information and supplies through what certain individuals still refer to as "enhanced interrogation", but unless that army keeps moving to find new sources of food to forage, then it's not going to dramatically exceed that limit.

The second option is to rely on civilians to provide supplies voluntarily, usually by paying them for it. There's two ways of doing this: either having the local population bring supplies to the army, or by having civilians from the army's home territories bring up those supplies to wherever the army is campaigning. Both of these approaches have their limitations. The most obvious one is the fact that by paying for supplies instead of simply taking them, an army becomes a lot more expensive to maintain, not only in paying for those supplies themselves, but also in maintaining the staff needed to handle the necessary funds and ensure they're going to the right people. Likewise, the suppliers themselves will often have reasons to short-sell or otherwise try and swindle the army, especially if that army is going to be long gone by the time that they find out that the supplies they've already paid for weren't what was requested.

Other limitations include the fact that if an army is purchasing locally, they're subject to the same "carrying capacity" as an army that forages, except that the latter can realistically squeeze more supplies out of the locals simply because the locals are being forced to give up all the supplies they can, not just all they can afford to part with. Likewise, an army which intends to bring up supplies from its home territories are subject to the fact that the process of bringing up those supplies themselves require supplies (as well as armed escorts if they're going through hostile territory). The farther that army operates from its home, the longer those supply lines have to be, and as a result, the greater the proportion of the supplies being brought up are going to have to go to feeding the draught animals, sailors, and teamsters doing the carrying rather than the army at the end of the supply line.

Which is a problem that's shared by the third method, that of using the army itself to bring up supplies from base depots in friendly territory. In theory, by subsuming the process of supplying an army within itself, that army ensures that the right supplies are going to the right places. Of course, this not only means that this army would have to devote the same sort of resources to bringing up supplies as the civilian providers normally would, but it also means that everyone involved in the process is part of the army itself - meaning that more of the resources allocated to the army as a whole are spent recruiting, training, paying, and maintaining these supply lines than would be in other cases.

Historically, armies have generally relied on the first two practises - usually the first in hostile territory, and the second in friendly territory. This means that the armies involved were strictly limited by the carrying capacity of the land they were fighting over. In a time when the fastest military unit available was mounted cavalry (and even then only for short bursts of speed without a supply of remounts), this meant that the sizes of field armies were strictly limited by the level of development of the surrounding countryside. Even in the time of the massive armies of the Napoleonic Wars, these forces were often required to march in smaller Army Corps to avoid starving to death, only reuniting when needed to fight a battle.

However, not long after Waterloo, this changed. The size of field armies not only exploded, but they also became more and more adherent to the third method, that of self-contained logistics organisations bringing up supplies from home territory.

There were two reasons for this, one leading into the other. The first was the development of the railway. Suddenly, armies were able to move vast quantities of supplies and equipment overland rapidly and efficiently. This meant that heavy equipment and ammunition - which previously had to be labouriously brought up through muscle-powered supply lines - would now be railroaded in en-masse. As maintaining an army more loaded down with heavy artillery and other advanced equipment became easier, armies began to see the development of these pieces of equipment as the primary means of securing a qualitative advantage over an enemy forces. At the same time, because a larger proportion of an army's supply needs was made up of specialised equipment, it no longer became feasible to source much of that equipment from local populations or general civilian society. As a result of these two developments, large armies became easier to supply, and large armies using that third model of logistics became the only way to field a serious contender in the field of industrialised war.

So what does this all mean? 

First of all, at the most basic level, armies are limited by the amount of food and equipment they can be supplied by. No equipment, and they can't fight. No food, water, or (in the cases of professional armies) pay, and that army disintegrates. 

Secondly, the ability to supply an army is based either directly or indirectly on technology and infrastructure. If an army is foraging from the locals, then that army is limited by the amount of population the territory within reach of that army can support. If the army is getting supplies from elsewhere, then transportation technology and the relevant infrastructure needs to be there to ensure enough supply gets to the army to keep it together. 

Thirdly, unless the army is entirely living off the land, it will be smaller the further away from home it operates, as more resources need to be spent supplying each individual soldier the further they are from their base of supply. That explains why (for example), the Spanish Habsburgs struggled to maintain small armies of a few hundred or a thousand in its far-flung American colonies, while being able to maintain nearly a hundred thousand men in the Army of Flanders in the Netherlands for decades on end.

Fourthly, everything changes when mechanised mass-transit enters the picture. When an army no longer has to feed itself with a supply line which also needs feeding (or at least, not a *lot* of feeding), supplying an army across long land distances gets much easier.

Last of all, some hard numbers to give you some reference points: the largest individual field armies of the pre-railroad age were usually about 50 000 or so. Larger armies were possible, but they were often made up of multiple individual army corps combined together for the purpose of a single battle. These were the armies which were fielded by the highly developed military systems of very large and powerful states like the Han, the Romans, and the Achaemenids at one end, and the semi-industrialised great powers of Europe like Napoleonic France and Prussia on the other. This is more or less as big as an army gets unless it is operating very close to its home base (like the gigantic Roman army which got wiped out at Cannae, or the aforementioned Army of Flanders). 

Armies raised by much more fractured, less centralised states like the kingdoms of Medieval Europe were much smaller. 20 000 men was considered a really big army (like the French at Agincourt or the Polish-Lithuanian Army at Tannenberg-Grunwald). Even an army of 5000 or so was usually a full-effort undertaking. Most feuds between powerful nobles usually only involved "armies" of a few hundred, or even a few dozen.

On the other hand, after railroads, armies massively increase in size, from tens to hundreds of thousands. During the Russo-Japanese War, the Russian army tried (and almost succeeded) in supplying something like 700 000 men through a single half-finished railway line. Eventually, you'd find forces so large that they're able to create continuous battle lines across entire continents. 

If you all want, I could probably put together a list with some more data points, to give you more of an idea of how big an army in a given time period or situation (or its equivalent) ought to be.

Or we can talk about something else next month, up to you.

February Content Update: Remember That Time We Killed a Dragon? (Pt 2)

The trip out from Torinhall would have been uneventful if not for one rather inconvenient fact.

You see, when the Duke commissioned us on this quest of his, he made the mistake of announcing it to his entire court, which meant that they announced it to the rest of the city. By the time we finally went out the gate the next day, we were flooded with hangers-on, all from that silly little class of not-quite-children and not-quite-adults who were old enough to leave home, but not quite old enough to know that dragons don't actually exist. There were maybe four or five dozen of them, enough to pass for a sizeable war party.

They were armed like one too. Most of the peaceable folk of the city were busy, of course. They had work to do expanding the big circuit of walls you can still see if you visit Torinhall today, or refurbishing the Sanctuary, where you can now see that famous stained glass hall showing Torin breaking the heart of the Tower of Thorns. No, it was the idle who came along with us - which was to say, the wealthy and the well-born, the bored children of merchants, squires on leave, even a fellow Errant or two, all of them bringing their own helms and shields and weapons. Some of them even brought their own maille with them, which I took as something of a vote of confidence at the time - at least it meant they were taking it seriously.

And they did take it seriously at first. As we set out from the city, we moved at a crawl, with eyes pitched upwards, anticipating an attack from the sky that might come from any time or place. Of course, the fact that we had faced no such attack on the way to the city had evidently escaped our young and foolish minds, as we were just as apprehensive as the others. Some of them would take turns riding on the back of mules, with arbalests pointed directly at the sky, as if a Dragon from so high up might be able to see, let alone be threatened by such an implement. As a result, that first day, we covered maybe a quarter of the distance we could have covered by ourselves. 

This wouldn't last though. The thing about youths is that they might be all enthusiasm at first, but that ardour quickly wears away when confronted with the actual reality of campaigning. I knew I'd been when I'd first set out with Leo not so long before all this had happened. It was really only my knight's oath and the eyes of my best friend and future liege which kept me on the road. (Leo, of course, didn't show a single sign of reluctance or hesitation. I think he was simply different that way). Our own little baggage train had no one to keep them on the straight and narrow, and soon enough, after a day and a night of constant travel and sleeping on the ground, some of them started to go home. A few of them had not packed bedrolls and simply got sick sleeping in the open. Others got bored. A few, laden down with all their gear, simply declared that they were going to have a break, and never caught up with us again.

I was told that all of them made it safely back to the city - which seems obvious in hindsight, given how little progress we had made.

On second thought, an actual fear of confronting a real live dragon was probably something that got a few of them turning for the way home too. In the years since, I've seen all too many instances of those who were eager and excited at the prospect of glorious adventure and combat, only to balk when they give it some thought and remember that battle has winners and losers - and that even the winners stand a chance of having a very unpleasant time. It's almost always for the best. Better that those who endure all the sufferings of battle be the ones who are completely committed to it.

In our case, the ones who were completely committed to it seemed to consist only of the three of us and our guides. By the time we actually returned to the village. We were the only ones left. The ruins of Sendehafen were empty too - at least of dragons. There were wild dogs and the like around, which the locals who'd come with us quickly set to driving off, leaving us alone to investigate what had happened - and where this dragon had come from.

"I hope the Duke is willing to provide charity to the villagers," Leo remarked as we searched the fields. "With their crops burned, I do not think they will have a chance to plant and harvest again before winter."

I nodded to that, idly, my attention elsewhere. Evidently, the third of our party was paying a bit more attention.

"The crops were already harvested." Elias said.

He pointed at a patch of field which had not quite been burned entirely - and the stubble of wheat stalks on it - wheat stalks which had been reaped neatly with a scythe.

"Must have been good timing then," I replied.

"Not necessarily," Leo answered. "It would have simply burned with their granary, instead of in the fields."

"Only if their granary actually burned."

Some of the buildings had survived the fire not intact, but in good enough shape. Hoping that the village granary had been one of them, we interrupted our search to look for it.

The guides we had along quickly pointed us to it - or at least to where it used to be. It was as if the Dragon had held a particular grudge against that building in particular. Even while the surrounded cottages still had some bits of their frames left standing, the granary was burned almost entirely to the ground, with barely a pile of ashes left.

Between you and me, we probably would have left it at that and gone back to our search, if not for one of the wild dogs which the locals had driven off earlier. Somehow, it'd managed to get past us, to begin pawing and digging at the ground where the granary had stood. At first, we just assumed it had smelled some trace scent of burned meat or something, but our guides suddenly sprang into action, trying to chase off the poor creature with what could only be described as frantic desperation, almost as if they had been trying to protect something.

Our suspicions raised, we began to pick up where the dog had left off, digging into the ground with the mountain picks we'd gotten for our trip over the passes. One of the villagers seemed about to stop us, but evidently thought better than to interrupt two armed nobles and a mage. Even so, we could see their expressions shift from anxiety, to fear, to despair as we dug deeper and deeper.

Until we'd dug down the whole height of a man, and struck wood.

It was the top of a chest, one of a great many, all of them packed with threshed grain, salted meat, onions, beets, carrots, and all manner of other crops, carefully wrapped and preserved, and kept entirely safe from the fire which had burned the granary above.

All three of us were thinking the same thing at that point. I certainly was, and I could see it in the others' eyes. The problem was saying something. It seemed at the time like it would have been bad manners, especially for knights who'd sworn to defend people just like the ones around us.

Luckily for both of us, the third member of our party possessed neither a knightly oath, nor manners.

"You burned the village yourselves," he said after a moment. "There was no dragon."

The truth came out after that, like the fill of a curtain wall breached by a trebuchet. There was no dragon. The Duke's renovations of his seat were being paid for by repeated taxes, levied almost every year. This year's just happened to be too much. The people of Sendehafen had barely enough as it was without sending off a tenth of it to rebuild a city they'd likely never see more than four times in their life. So, faced with a choice between destitution or rebellion, they picked a third option, they picked cunning instead.

They had known that their Duke was a man fond of fanciful stories, and so they decided to concoct one of their own. They brought everyone and their valuables to safety, buried their food, and burned their own village to the ground - taking care to do so early enough to rebuild for the coming winter, and late enough so that they could go before their liege with a straight face, and tell him that there was no time left in the year for a second planting.

And it probably would have worked, if the first people to come across their scheme had not been adventurers.

This, naturally, left us in something of a bind. As Knights, we were sworn to protect the weak and the innocent, and although you could probably make the argument that "burning down your own village to commit tax fraud" probably wasn't the way most people would describe the actions of the entirely blameless, it was obvious to us that it was desperation, not malice, which drove them to such lengths. Nobody wakes up one day and decides to just burn their home to the ground on principle, and even if one person did, there was no way the entire village would have gone along with it unless they were all up the same creek.

On the other hand, we were also sworn to tell the truth, especially to those who could call themselves their superiors. Errants were bound to the laws of whatever realm they passed through - which was why Knights-Errant are allowed such free passage in the first place - and although Leofric would be a Duke one day, he wasn't one yet. We had an obligation to report accurately to the Duke of Torinhall, even though it'd probably mean that the villagers involved would be punished for it. Judging by the looks on our guides' faces as we left them, it seemed clear to me which way we were going to go.

But it wasn't, not to any of us, the whole ride back to Torinhall. Elias was perhaps the luckiest of us. He had no oaths to uphold either way. He didn't have to say anything to anyone, and it was pretty clear that he didn't intend to. That left the two of us.

Leo had every reason to tell the truth. He had always been more of a stickler for law and order than I was (probably because soon enough, he'd be the one writing the laws), and more than that, the last thing he needed was bad blood with the Duke of Torinhall when he eventually became Duke of Kendrickstone - especially given how at that time, there were still Torinhallers who claimed Hallowford as their rightful territory, and not ours. 

By the time we'd returned to the city, I was basically committed to answering first. The problem was, I didn't know what I was going to say either, even as we walked up the steps and bowed before the Duke, I was still weighing the merits either way. 

It was only when the expectant old man in front of us demanded an answer that I came to a decision. I drew myself up, took a breath and-

"It was a Dragon," Leofric replied, before I could. "We killed it. That's all."

February Content Update: The Khorobirit Papers (Pt 5)

The Khorobirit Papers

5/11/617

Thus, it appears that I have outlived another Tierran King. This one has departed his kingdom in a state so very different from how he inherited it: divided, paralysed by in-fighting, nearly bankrupt. One could almost mistake it for an Antari principality.

Some would see such a state as a warning, that when one tries to alter the traditions upon which a state is built, one will only serve to shake its structure apart.

Perhaps they have a point. Tierra's example is a warning, but it is one which recommends strength, not cowardice. The King of Tierra tried to work within the traditions of his country to remake it, and those who benefitted from those traditions opposed him, seeing as our own Lords of the Congress do, only that such changes might erode their own power. A naive fool in politics for all of his ambitions, he trusted in the goodwill of those who had every reason to oppose his interests, and as a result, all of his ideas of reform and self-strengthening have come to nothing.

I am not a King of Tierra, to think in the terms of one was the mistake of my earlier years. One cannot remake a state by using the very instruments one intends in the end to destroy. One can only forge one's own new tools - strong enough and sharp enough to cut away the rotten timbers and rusted braces of the old. 

I am not a King of Tierra. I am Prince Khorobirit, and if those who should seek to defend their own powers in contravention of the good of this realm should expect me to beg and cajole and scrape as a King of Tierra might, then they will find themselves very regretfully mistaken.

-------

7/1/617

Transcript of Address to the First Classes of the State Academy

My most faithful and able subjects.

You have been called here to correct the great wrong which has been done to you. For centuries, it has been believed that all those born without the Divine Blood are fit only for brute labour, that men and women such as you are incapable of anything greater than the station which you have been born to. Now, we know that this is a lie. You are the proof of that lie - those handful born within the great mass of the people with the will, the ability, and the loyalty to transcend the limits of those around you, and to fulfil a potential which almost all others cannot dream of achieving.

For centuries, there have been men and women such as you, and for centuries, your potential has been wasted by ignorant and profligate masters. Those of you who were picked out by the Sainted Martyrs to be better than your peers have been left unacknowledged, the great good which you might have done for your people has been disregarded. Instead, you have been forced to live amongst your inferiors, to labour as they labour, your sharp minds left to wither, given no direction or purpose.

Beginning today, this changes.

Here, at the academy of sciences, your will be raised to the position you deserve, one in which your skills and talents will be cultivated to the advantage of yourselves and the whole of the Principality. In doing so, you will become the extensions of my hand and my voice. Your abilities will be trained to serve me, and in return, you will be rewarded as extensions of my own power, as my favoured servants.

Those who excel in their duties will be showed with honours. They will become the subjects of the envy of those above and below them. Do not heed such sentiments, for they are born of the anger of those who will remain in the past. They fear the loss of my favour - a fear which those of you who serve me well in the days ahead will never have reason to harbour.

They are the past. You, my most faithful and able subjects, are the future.

-------

9/14/617

It is understood very well that the Blood is intended to provide powers of judgement and intellect, and that most of those without it are little more than animals.

However, there are times when this truth seems in doubt.

A judge was killed in the far north two weeks ago. The perpetrator was a minor lord of no account - even less account now. He saw fit to have my servant arrested and impaled, on the grounds that he was a serf who was away from his estate, never mind that he was one of my serfs, on my business, bearing my token.

A column was dispatched to chastise the offender and his chattels, as has been the case in the previous few cases. Only in this occasion, when the force arrived, it was reported that the serfs themselves had seen fit to arrest the Lord in question, for fear of the punishment which I was to mete out to them.

Unfortunately, this also places a dilemma before me. The serfs are, undoubtedly guilty of servile insurrection. The proper course of action would be to stake each and every one of them, as I have before. However, doing so would show that I would treat serfs who are more loyal to me than their immediate masters no differently than those who would remain obedient to a lord who commits treason against me. To offer clemency would reward this show of loyalty, but it may also encourage others to rebel, as many have in the west. This I cannot allow.

Thus, I must offer a reward and exact a price, but I must also determine the proportion of each. There is no question that some will have to die on the stake, and others will have to be honoured for their actions.

The question is whom, and in what numbers?

------

4/28/618

I have visited the canal project again. The main channel remains frozen over. The engineers tell me it will likely be another month before the passage is suitable for the use of small boats, and another two weeks after that before it might be useable for heavy shipping.

It seems that this affair has proven to be mere folly. A channel to a protected harbour will be of little use when it is only open to the sea for three or four months of the year. If I am to secure the means to assemble a sea-going fleet, then I will need to secure a port further south, an enterprise which will involve resources and plans of an entirely different kind.

Perhaps this project was always destined to exist in the realm of the fantastical. The Southmen may see the use of a canal for such a purpose, but their land is warmer than ours. No doubt that a Tierran Lord would find a canal project a much more practical solution. Here, we must salvage what we can, divert the resources to other projects, and leave what is left standing as a monument to the imbecility of copying the works and methods of foreigners without understanding them.

------

6/2/618

During the height of the war, there were those who prayed to the Saints and the Mother to reverse the fortunes of our respective sides - to sow the same disunity and confusion among the Southmen that we witnessed every time we entered the chamber of the Congress. We, the right-thinking, intelligent men, dismissed such supplications as the pathetic mewling of desperate cowards. The Saints, as it is well known, look to nothing but their own plans. The Mother of Ascension is not drawn to the sound of prayer, but to deeds of glory and courage. It was folly to apply to the Heavens in such a manner, the Heavens did not listen to supplications of such a tenor.

Apparently we were wrong.

It seems perhaps the Heavens do listen to such pleadings, they simply take a great deal of time to answer them. News has come to us that the Tierran kingdom has collapsed into a state of civil war, between the factions of the court and the throne. The Duke of Wulfram, son to the man whom I defeated at Blogia, now fancies himself a latter day version of Prince Ivan of my own illustrious line, calling for the overthrow of the power of their new Queen - who has evidently realised at long last that an edifice of government cannot be remade while maintaining its walls and pillars. Now the Tierran Congress - their Cortes - is broken into multiple fractious parties, each adhering to one side or the other, but in the name of different interests.

Word has come to me that the Takarans have involved themselves as well, after their embassy was stormed and its staff cruelly slaughtered by some mass of lowborn rabble. It is not the only account I have heard of such animals running free in that country. Perhaps now the Tierrans will understand the folly not keeping the mass of their serfs in hand. 

It is said that among the Kian, the hatred of their great enemy is so deep that they rejoice whenever they hear of some Takaran misfortune regardless of cause or severity. I cannot doubt now that I am of a kindred spirit with such sentiment. This internal dissolution of the Tierran kingdom weakens those we hate, and serves as an object lesson to our own people as to how disunity and the pursuit of shallow interests may bring down even a seemingly strong government. More than that, it gives us time: time to strengthen ourselves, to bring those who still cling to the past to heel, time to position ourselves to our advantage.

Time to engineer revenge.

Wanted: Topics for February

Please choose one topic from each of the lists below, and reply with the respective letter and number of your chosen topics in the comments below.

Voting will go until January 21st, 11:59 PM (Pacific Time).

Topics marked with the asterisk (*) have been chosen by backers at the $10-a-month tier. They will be available for voting this month only, unless they are suggested again for March.

Please reply with your choices in the comments below.

A Soldier's Guide to the Infinite Sea

A) Garing, Gutierrez, and Truscott - A History: A brief history of GG&T, from its humble beginnings during the Petty Kingdoms era, through its establishment as a major armsmaking firm during the Wars of Unification, to its current status as the Unified Kingdom's largest gunmaker.

B) The Saintly Martyrs: An overview of the worship of the Saints in the Northern Kingdoms, including biographies of selected Sainted Martyrs, iconography, and cosmology.

C) Old Calligia - What We Know: The Kian poet J'eanne Lieux once said that "The only thing we know about Old Calligia are the lies". While not entirely true, very little of the long-gone northern realm has survived. This essay from the University of San'heu attempts to put together the pieces.

D) Warfare Then and Now: A relatively broad overview of the history of war and warfare in the Infinite Sea, taken from a part of a Callindrian children's book.

E) Edmund Garing, In His Own Words: An autobiographical account of the junior partner of GG&T, edited by the Countess of Welles for her report on the War in Antar.

F) Clerks and Commoners: Selections from a children's book written for the scions of the Tierran nobility, meant as their first real education in the classes and dynamics of the Baneless classes.

G) A Report on Tutors and Tutelage: Commissioned by the Royal University of Aetoria, this report investigates the education baneblooded children receive before they are admitted to the University itself.

H) A Call to Arms to the Faithful of the Tree: A religious tract summarising the worship of the Tree of Life, and calling for a renewed age of religious devotion in an age of Takaran secularism.

I) The Compleat Knight: A somewhat tongue-in-cheek guide to the behaviours expected of a Knight of the Red.

J) The Senior Service: A rather self-serving pamphlet extolling the virtues of the Royal Tierran Navy in the context of the army's new prominence following the Dozen Years' War.

L) Notes on a Crisis Pt 2: More collected notes from Queen Isobel's private correspondence, dealing with the fallout of her use of the royal veto.

*M) The Khorobirit Papers Pt 5: Another collection of Prince Khorobirit's letters, regarding the state of affairs in Antar at the time of the outbreak of the Tierran Civil War.

*N) Royal Tierran Intelligence Memoranda – The Great Powers Pt 2: A report on how the Great Powers of the Infinite Sea are reacting to the outbreak of the Tierran Civil War.

*P) On the Cunarian Dragoons: A confidential report on the status of those Dragoon squadrons still stationed in Fernandescourt.

*Q) The Sketches of a Portraitist: A collection of rough sketches of the current leaders and crowned heads of the Infinite Sea.

An Adventurer's Guide to the Fledgling Realms

1) On Creeds and Cults Pt 3: Folk traditions, cults, and other "marginal" belief systems throughout the Concordat.

2) Remember That Time We Killed a Dragon? (Pt 2): Leofric of Kendrickstone and Elaine of Sonnemerci hit the road, on a mission from the Duke of Torinhall to kill (what is probably) a dragon.

*3) An Account of the Reachmen: North of the Concordat, north of the Nizam-i Khazar, live other peoples. This is a telling of their way of life, as written by a Korilandine scholar and adventurer.

A Creator's Guide to Writing and Worldbuilding

A1) Using Genre Conventions: Every genre comes with its own traditions and conventions. Some of them can be helpful, others... less so. How do you tell the former from the latter?

A2) Sizing Up an Army (Pt 2): An army can only be as large as its ability to feed itself. How big is that, exactly?

A3) Scale Modelling a City: The size of population centres are constrained by terrain, technology, societal norms, and the force of history, let me explain how you can use those things to make your fictional cities more realistically sized.

January Content Update: Sizing An Army (Pt 1)

Here's a question for you: why were there only 300 Spartans at Thermopylae? According to popular history, this was supposed to be an all-or-nothing battle for the future of the Classical Greek World, a full-effort attempt to stop an immense Persian army from wiping out the city-states of the entire peninsula (a questionable assertion, but that's a different discussion). Other, much smaller city-states sent more troops. Thespiae sent 700, Phocis sent 1000. Why did Sparta, a much larger Polis with tens of thousands of residents, only send 300 to fight a battle which would have supposedly demanded their maximum effort?

The answers to that question serve as an example of the factors which limit the size of any army, real or fictional - factors which any worldbuilder should really pay attention to if they want to have the sizes of their fighting forces realistically match the societies that field them.

So, back to our original question, let's answer the second part of it first: how did other, much smaller city-states contribute more hoplites than Sparta, a major power of the region? This comes down a great deal to how the Classical Greek military system worked.

In short, Classical Greek City-States mostly fought wars with each other, which meant that military campaigns tended to be very short by our standards, and that armies didn't have to travel very far. In addition, it meant that any decisive campaign was likely to end with one army besieging and potentially sacking the home city of another - which meant that war was short-term, short-range, and very high stakes. This led to a military system where individual city-states wanted to field as many useful troops as possible for a short amount of time.

Basically, how this worked was that every citizen in a city-state (citizen in this case meaning a male adult landowner) was required to maintain arms and armour for military service. In a time of war, those citizens would be mobilised as soldiers. In theory, a citizen's rights were contingent on their ability and willingness to be called out to the battlefield in a season of war, but because these wars rarely lasted longer than a season, it meant that the citizen-soldier himself was not required to be a professional soldier. It was enough for him to own a shield, a spear, and a helmet, and be able to respond to the relatively simple commands needed to point a Hoplite phalanx at the enemy phalanx and send it charging forward. 

This meant that relatively small city-states (with populations of a few thousand) could send much larger proportions of their population into battle simply because they were able to mobilise anyone who could afford their own weapons. When this system was transplanted to the much more populous and expansive Roman Republic, it led to the sort of gigantic (50 000+ soldiers) armies we see regularly raised during the Punic Wars. Of course, this system also had its disadvantages. Part-time soldiers can't stay at war forever, and their nature as non-professionals means that preparing for war isn't their main occupation. If a campaign requires an army of citizen-conscripts to remain in the field for years, or needs it to fight an army of professionals, it'll usually lose. This is why the Romans eventually switched to an army of long-service professional volunteers - as did the United States, when its previous system of armed citizen militias proved woefully inadequate against far more capable indigenous fighters during conflicts like Little Turtle's War in the 1790s.

It should be noted that professional armies tend to be smaller than part-time ones, simply because while part-time soldiers go back to their day jobs when the fighting's over, professional soldiers don't have a separate civilian job where they produce things for the local economy. While trained soldiers are an invaluable human resource in a time of war, they don't contribute anywhere near as much to economic growth or standard of living in a time of peace as scientists, farmers, artisans, or poets. As a result, professional armies tend to rely on quality over quantity, and societies which have professional armies but haven't been under existential threat for a long time tend to keep those armies far smaller than what they're capable of. Even the United States - current poster-child for military overspending - only spends about half to a fifth of what it did as a proportion of GDP during the Cold War when armed conflict with a peer rival (the Soviet Union, which spent an even larger proportion of its GDP on its military) seemed imminent.

Of course, there were limits to the Classical Greek system as well. It only applied to the citizens of a city-state, not all its residents. Women, slaves, and immigrants were generally excluded from this (the reputation of Classical Greece as the brithplace of democracy is vastly overstated, in my opinion), and this applied in more or less every Classical Greek city-state. However, Sparta in particular possessed a much more restrictive citizenship than even most other city-states, leading to a situation where its larger population did not necessarily correspond to a proportionally larger body of citizen-soldiers - Spartiates - as other, smaller city-states. Part of this was because Sparta had a much more regimented citizen-society than most city-states, with citizens more or less living under military discipline and education from birth and with a far higher proportion of children "washing out" before reaching adulthood.

The other reason was that Sparta - to an even greater extent than most other Classical Greek city-states - was a city of slaveowners.

When people say that Sparta sent 300 soldiers to the Battle of Thermopylae, they're only telling half of the truth. In reality, Sparta sent 300 Spartiates to Thermoplyae, and they were accompanied by three times as many slaves and other non-citizens acting as servants and support personnel. Sparta as a whole actually had an even greater proportion of slaves - Helots – to citizens – Spartiates - especially as time went on and the Spartiate class continued to dwindle. While the Spartiate class was able to devote all their time to military training, politics, and cracking one-liners, it was the Helot class which worked the fields, and kept the city running - usually while living under brutal discipline and in the kind of horrible conditions you normally find in 19th century chattel slavery. Naturally, this meant that the Helots ran away, disobeyed orders, and rebelled - quite often.

This of course, posed a problem to the Spartiate Class - they could either relent and give the Helots the same modicum of rights (like, for example, the right not to be hunted for sport by the Spartiate class) that other city-states offered, or they could simply repress the Helots harder. Guess which one they picked?

That, in turn, answers the other half of the question. Sparta only sent 300 Spartiates to Thermopylae because they needed the rest at home keeping the Helots in line. If they'd sent more, the Spartiates would risk what their latter day equivalents in the American South called "servile insurrection", and while the Persians could be negotiated with (indeed, the Spartans did negotiate with them throughout the time period) the Helots - whose grievances were personal rather than geopolitical - were far less likely to acquiesce, especially when they knew that the only position the Spartiate class would accept was a return of the Helots to the most abject slavery imaginable. As a result, the Spartiates prioritised keeping their own slaves in line over this supposedly existential (but not really) threat, and distributed their military resources accordingly.

So what does this tell us about sizing armies in general? First of all, it tells us that the total number of troops a given society can put into the field is limited to a relatively small proportion of the society as a whole: even at maximum effort, a part-time citizen army like that of most Greek City-States represented maybe a tenth of its total population, with the rest being invalidated by gender, age, class, or political status. With a professional army in a society which has not known existential threat for a long time, this proportion is even smaller. The US Armed Forces has something like 1 active service member per 250 citizens. The Canadian Armed Forces maintain an even smaller proportion - more like 1 to 500.

Likewise, the full force of these militaries won't be concentrated into a single big field army. Generally speaking, a large proportion - if not most - of a military's human resources will be committed elsewhere: garrisoning fortifications, maintaining weapons and equipment, serving as police or internal security, or recruiting and training new units. As a result, an army which might boast hundreds of thousands of troops in total might only be able to deploy tens of thousands of troops in a single field army. In addition, a huge part of that army will be made up of servants, camp followers, and rear-echelon troops like pay clerks, engineers, farriers, staff officers, and other personnel who aren't expected to actually go into battle. As a result, the number of troops which actually go into combat is a fraction of a fraction of the total mobilised armed forces - which is in turn a relatively small fraction of a society's population - and these fractions tend to get smaller and smaller as war becomes more complex, requiring more civilian support on the home front (in terms of things like industrial production) while also requiring more specialists and technicians to allow for a field army to fight more effectively.

And none of this is getting into logistical restrictions. Just like the political entities we covered in last month's article, armies are limited by technology: namely the ability to bring up all the food and supplies needed to keep that army fed and in fighting shape. Supplies - especially supplies pulled by animals who also inconveniently require constant supplies of food and water - are a major limit to how big armies can get in the field in more ways than one.

But that's something for next time. This article has already gone long enough, and I'm going to have to split this into a two-parter.

January Content Update: Remember That Time We Killed a Dragon (Pt 1)

REMEMBER THAT TIME WE KILLED A DRAGON?

The strange thing about being on the open road is that you end up thinking about nothing more than the next village or town. You could be the kind of person who falls to sleep in your soft bed dreaming of the open wilds, and you'll find yourself only thinking of that warm soft bed after a few days of hard travel. After a few more days, your standards don't even reach that high. By that point, even a nice bundle of straw in a stable stall will do. All the comforts which you took for granted within the walls of a town slowly become the only things you can think about, and you become more and more desperate until even a brush with the most rudimentary form of civilisation is a thing which you yearn for the way which amorous fools in Fiorentine operas yearn after the fair prince in the high tower. After five days on the road, you would pay out your entire fortune, even to sleep on the rail of a fence.

We had been on the road for seven when we approached the village of Sendehafen. It was our last stop before we crossed the river and into the heartlands of the Grand Duchy of Torinhall. From there, we had a pressing engagement in Kendrickstone, where Leo's great-aunt had some urgent pressing political matter she expected our presence at for some reason or other. Our map had put us on the right road, but as with most maps, it didn't really give us the right distance. We knew that if we kept walking, we'd reach the place, but we didn't know how long it would take. It was a road we'd used before, but that had been in the summer, with a caravan which brought some of the comforts of life with it. Now it was autumn, and in between the rain and wind and the cold hard ground, we were all feeling in desperate need of some of those comforts right then. That was what kept us going forward, one foot in front of the other: the thought that if we kept going, we'd eventually reach Sendehafen, and even if the place was a miserable little collection of hovels with a single traveller's inn, at least that inn would have hot food and beds to sleep in.

Unfortunately, we had no such luck.

The first sign we had that something had gone wrong was the plume of smoke rising from the distance. Of course, villages give off smoke all the time. It's the sort of thing that civilisation kind of leaves, like a fingerprint on a glass goblet. We use fire to cook our food, forge our steel, boil our water. Even a single isolated hut in the woods leaves smoke. But this, this wasn't the kind of wispy little collection of strands you expect from a village, this was huge, roiling, giant gouts of black being tossed into the sky as if someone on the ground was throwing it. None of us had ever seen a village on fire before. We were about to.

My first thought when we saw the flames first hand was annoyance at the fact that we were stuck sleeping on the ground for the next week until we reached Torinhall. Maybe this says something about my character, it probably does. Leofric's first reaction on the other hand, definitely said something about his. I remember seeing the emotions cross his face, one after the other: shock, horror, determination. "Ellie, we have to look for survivors," he declared, so quick it had to be a reflex. For a moment, it didn't even look as if he'd realised he'd said it at all. Then, he turned to the third in our party. "Elias, put these flames out."

Elias was an apprentice court mage from Amberhelm, one of the half dozen or so the Prince's court had maintained. He'd been with us for a few months at this point, out trying to make a name for himself so he'd get a better chance of being chosen as his master's successor. We got along well enough, after a few confusing days of untangling the fact that our respective parents had given us inconveniently similar names. The best thing about him was he that he didn't talk much, and he didn't argue when someone (usually Leofric) had an obviously good idea. So, like the string of an arbalest, he sprang into action. Within moments, we could feel the air around us grow heavy with moisture as water began to manifest from the sky and lash at the flames like swords.

The flames didn't last long. Evidently, they hadn't burned very hot. Unfortunately, we'd gotten there far too late to save much of the village. The outlying cottages had escaped heavy damage, but the market square, the buildings around it, and much of the fields had been razed to bare ash. In hindsight, it was the last bit that was the most curious. I've since learned just how difficult it is to burn crops to the ground, but back then, that sort of experience was still several years and a rather nasty war away. I assumed that grass had burned as easily as straw, and didn't know any better.

As the last of the fires guttered out under our mage's careful efforts, the first figures appeared from the woods: the villagers of Sendehafen. They looked in pretty nasty shape, bruised and covered with ash. Most carried heavy bundles on their backs - evidently, they'd been remarkably capable of rescuing their possessions from the blaze. When they saw us, the first amongst them immediately dropped to their knees. They thanked us profusely for putting out the flames, and putting to flight the dragon that had started them.

"Wait," Leofric interrupted. "What was that about a dragon?"

"A great beast, Sir Knight! Like from the tapestries and tales! No doubt you have slain many in your adventures!"

Leofric had winced a little at that first 'sir knight', we were supposed to be travelling incognito, as mere wandering adventurers of no particular distinction. He even had us swap out our knightly spurs for common ones, just in case someone looked too closely. But there was only so much you could hide, and both of us had the look of Knight-Errants, that unconscious sense of pride, coupled with that eagle-eyed hunger for any opportunity to win glory. I was perhaps a bit hungrier than him (he was going to inherit a Duchy, after all), but either way, no matter how many threadbare cloaks we'd thrown on, our bearing had been dead giveaways.

Of course, neither of us really believed him. Dragons weren't real, despite what the stories would tell you. Still, Leofric had that same indulgent streak he still does as Duke of Kendrickstone. He drew his sword and swore on it that he'd find the beast that destroyed the village and exact the appropriate punishment. Now, he didn't specifically say the word 'dragon', or even imply it, but the villagers seemed happy enough, and they were even more pleased when he offered to escort them all to Torinhall, where they could make their report to their own liege lord.

Now, I suppose some of you have been to Torinhall some time in the past few years, and you might have even seen its sitting Duke: a big strapping young fellow who looks like the sort of lad who'd pick a fight with you in a tavern, beat you half senseless, then buy you drinks to show that it was all in good fun. He hadn't even been born at this point. No, the Duke we got to meet was a weedy little man, who barely seemed to care about anything going on around him. Oh, of course, he went through all the motions of greeting when Leo showed up - he was too important to offend after all - yet the moment that passed and he sat down back in his chair, he seemed to fall straight asleep. I'd have almost expected to hear him snoring as the villagers explained what had happened to their village - and why they wouldn't be in any shape to pay any taxes for the next three or four years at least. I did not think the old stick would have roused if someone had pushed him over.

At least, that was until he was told about the dragon.

In Korilandis, they have this sort of tea which can wake someone up from a dead sleep. It smells incredible, but it tastes like the bitterest poison you could imagine, which I guess is how it wakes people up. At the mention of a dragon, the old Duke shot upright, as if someone had just poured a whole cask of that stuff down his throat. Whatever his thoughts might have been before, it was clear from one look in his eyes that his head was now full of visions of great and terrible beasts winging their way through the air, dealing out fire and death - and brave adventurers riding out to face the creature, sword in hand.

Next thing I know, the little man is charging us with doing just that. "A Quest, most grave and most glorious", he calls it. By the time the words register, Leofric had already agreed.

"Leo, the Duchess is waiting for you in Kendrickstone," I reminded him.

"This is more important, lives are at stake", he replied - and that was that. We barely stayed in Torinhall a day before riding back out the way we came, with a mule full of supplies and a handful of the villagers to act as guides.

And that was how we ended up on the road once again, on a mission to kill a dragon.

January Content Update: On the Adoption of the New Rifle

ON THE ADOPTION OF THE NEW RIFLE

To my Esteemed Master Truscott,

I greet the news of your continued advantageous position with the greatest of joys. With the situation as unsettled as it has been of late, a great deal of once-certain realities now seem so easily upended, my own circumstances being so very obvious an example. As you may now know, we have had several most direct shocks here in Aetoria over the course of the past few months, not only with the turmoil in the streets following the Duke of Wulfram's Pronounciamento, but with the upheavals which directly affected the membership and the premises of the Shipping Exchange as well. I fear that for the moment, at least, we are consigned to scratch quarters, while our more accustomed seats are refurbished and made once again suitable for human habitation. Perhaps in that regard, it might be seen as even convenient that the current conflict should so disorder the existing patterns of trade, for one could not imagine the utter chaos which might ensue should the Shipping Exchange be obliged to resume full trading without the Shipowners to ride herd over it.

Yet I must regret to inform you that even this is perhaps not the most unpleasant matter I must bring to your attention.

It has been quite some time since we discussed in person the folly of our dear young Master Garing. Though his undoubted genius for mechanickal design cannot help but imbue his suggested new weapon with some degree of merit by virtue of its clever manufacture alone, he has always been prevented from wagering the resources of the corporation upon such an enterprise by the simple fact that insufficient interest has been shown by any appropriate party to render such an expenditure worthwhile. Now, with the country seemingly at war with itself, he has been approached to consider the adoption of what he considers the most successful and efficacious of his designs by multiple involved parties.

While it is not yet written by the Saints that we must now wail and gnash our teeth as our young colleague surpasses us in prominence and carves for himself a place in history, I think it increasingly possible that such a destination might now be feasible for him. Thus, it is in the interest of our own abnegation and obscurity that I enclose the following document, being an analysis drawn up by one of my staff regarding a process by which Master Garing's new rifle might be adopted by any interested party of sufficient resources while minimising the risk to the company and to our own assets. Thus we might take certain precautions, so that if the Saints should will that we die in the obscure shadow of our junior, we will at least die fabulously wealthy.

------

The adoption of arm now under consideration (to be referred to henceforth as "the new rifle") makes for several considerable complications, stemming from the fact that its design and intended implementation is of a nature so radically different from the current mode that an army adopting it for general deployment might be considered to be creating from whole cloth an entirely new school of warfare. For centuries now, warfare has progressed along lines drawn by assumptions which seemed stern and unbending: that firelock-bearing infantry cannot fire more than a few times a minute, that such fire is best husbanded in volleys to ensure maximum shock upon the will of the enemy, that likewise such volleys are to be delivered at closest possible range by companies arranged in closest possible order to ensure both proof from the white arms of cavalry and opposing foot. As a result, we have created a means of warfare which requires a certain amount of shot and powder, in which men are ordered a certain way, and officers command to a certain rulebook.

If the implications of the new rifle's capabilities are borne out, it would necessitate a complete rebuilding of these assumptions. Some will prove to be useless entirely, whilst others may instead find themselves more relevant than ever. Unfortunately, given the experimental nature of such an arm, its exact effect upon the established wisdom of battle is yet to be determined. Thus it becomes necessary to introduce the new rifle in a process of stages, to both determine the practickal limits of its function under the conditions of the field, and to test the old assumptions of war in a manner which will allow us to see which may be kept and which must be inevitably subject to revision.

The first stage of such a process must invariably the introduction of the new rifle to a company of evaluation, which may be sent into the field to provide information as to the basic mechanickal function of the weapon under the conditions of battle. Given the current state of affairs, it is unlikely that any interested party would be willing to expend funds to outfit such a unit, their resources being reserved for more reliable means of confronting the current crisis. Thus such a unit will likely have to be supported by the resources of the corporation, and deployed as a supernumeraries attached to the appropriate command possessed of a commanding officer amenable to such experiments. In the interests of minimising expenditure, such a unit will necessarily be as small as possible, while still capable of rendering the evaluations necessary.

These evaluations will at first regard the general function of the new rifle: if it is capable of functioning with equal or superior reliability to firelocks of the current type, whether it is able to sustain the rate of fire and accuracy which has been promised by the prototyping phase, whether its accoutrements and supply of cartridges might be as easily carried and maintained by a single man as those in current use. If these capabilities are established to satisfaction, then might come the time to evaluate the secondary requirements of the new rifle, especially regarding the expenditure and supply of ammunition in sustained action, the development of new means of shooting and reloading, and whether such arms are most efficaciously employed in volley, or in individual fire. The results of such evaluation will not only address long-standing concerns regarding weapons of this type, but will also assess the viability of the new rifle for more general issue.

It ought to be stated as a matter of course, that given the sensitive nature of the new rifle's design at this stage, it would be strongly recommended that this company of evaluation be placed as far from a position of danger as possible whilst still being able to carry out its tasks. A point ought to be made to minimise the risks of the new rifle or its evaluators being taken captive by elements of an opposing force. Given the politickal circumstances of the current conflict, such a development would not help but prove disastrous. However, given the increased range and accuracy which the new rifle is said to possess, the avoidance of such a hazard ought to be well within the capabilities of any competent authority.

Once the initial capabilities of the new rifle have been quantified by the evaluation unit, an effort ought to be made to see the adoption of the arm on a greater scale, with the support and funding of the relevant authorities. Assuming the qualities of the new rifle are sufficiently evident to prove its superiority over weapons of the current type, it ought to be a matter of little difficulty to secure funds and resources for the establishment of an experimental unit within the structure of the regular army, perhaps along the same scale as that of the Experimental Corps of Riflemen established during the late War in Antar. This force would be maintained under military discipline, and its ranks filled by picked marksmen from existing regiments, to be attached to an army currently in the field, and to be applied to its intended purpose at whatever occasion the Commander-in-Chief of that army should see fit.

Such a measure will not only provide more useful intelligence regarding the mechanickal qualities of the new rifle by providing a larger test sample in which imperfections or unexpected qualities may show themselves, but it will also serve to offer some measurement of the new rifle's utility in the hands of those who possess no special background or preparation in its use and maintenance. Through this process, we may determine the rate at which the new rifle malfunctions and must be replaced, as well as determine a means by which soldiers with no prior training may be instructed to use the new rifle most effectively. In addition, use on such a scale will be an ideal means of determining the most efficacious way to employ the weapon on the field, as well as best practises for the transport and supply of both replacement weapons and additional ammunition, which is sure to prove a major consideration if the new rifle is to be adopted in great numbers.

Up until this juncture, the furnishing of arms and ammunition for this enterprise may be a requirement still fulfilled by what is commonly considered artisanal or 'piece' work, with individual rifles and cartridges made up in the traditional manner, one at a time. However, further stages of adoption will necessitate the production of arms and ammunition at a much higher rate. While the processes for such operations are already well established, the physickal reality of implementing such a measure will come at considerable expense. Thus it would be in the interest of the Company to appeal one again to the relevant authorities for the funding to establish the necessary manufactories. However, even if such an enterprise must be funded entirely based on the resources of the corporation, it may yet recoup its outlay in the process of fulfilling the next proposed phase of adoption.

This phase would necessitate the establishment of further companies armed with the new rifle and furnished with ammunition for it. Initially, these companies would be attached to one battalion of foot within each brigade. Subsequently, if this measure should meet with success in the field, such adoption might be expanded to a similar arrangement in a second battalion. Ultimately, this process would conclude with every battalion of foot in the army possessed of a supernumerary company equipped with the new rifle, which might be deployed by their individual battalion commanding officers, or else combined into special purpose battalions by the order of the general officer commanding, in use for some particular exercise. These companies would be trained by those officers and men of the previous experimental force, who would serve as an instructional cadre for new rifle companies. As a result, the tactics and best practises already established would proceed directly into use by these new companies.

Through this process, several objectives may be achieved. First, the new rifle will be tested under varying conditions in service to multiple forces which are themselves possessed of multiple objectives and deployed in multiple environs. This will test the versatility of the new rifle under a great multitude of circumstances. Second, it will familiarise officers throughout the army of the capabilities of the new rifle, as well as its requirements. Given that we estimate that a single company of men armed with new rifles should expend the same amount of powder as an entire battalion armed with muskets of the current type, it would be adviseable to test extensively the ability of the army's ability to furnish, store, and deploy the requisite ammunition - just as it would be wise to test our own ability to produce such munitions at the appropriate scale.

In addition, by committing to a programme of gradual adoption, we will limit the demands on the company's own manufactories, allowing the production of new rifles and ammunition to increase at a relatively steady rate. This will prevent the undesirable possibility that overwhelming immediate demand should necessitate the creation of manufactory facilities which could in turn prove a superfluity once demand is met.

Through this process, the design of the new rifle might be extensively tested and refined in a manner to the satisfaction of both the Company and the relevant military authorities. Although the new rifle's general adoption as the primary arm of the regiments of foot is beyond the scope of this memorandum, the process detailed above ought to provide a firm base of intelligence and confidence with which the Company may pursue that aim, if the circumstances should deem such a course of action feasible or profitable.

------

As you will have no doubt surmised, I have provided for myself a copy of the document enclosed and intend to put its recommendations to use when presenting myself before the Queen's Majesty. With the Royalist cause so imperilled, there is little doubt that they will be happy to seize upon any potential advantage that they might be able to trial and profit from without immediate expenditure of funds or trained soldiery. As a result, I believe I will have little trouble prevailing upon Her Majesty - who is known now very broadly to favour the reform of all of the Crown's institutions - to allow us the first step of the procedure enumerated here. The officers of Grenadier Square may normally be of more intractable mind, but based on my discourse with our good Master Garing, I am given to understand that several highly-placed officers have been, for lack of a better term, cultivated as supporters since the time of his sojourn to Antar during the war.

Some of these officers, I have been made to believe, have also ended up on your side of the canal. They may prove of some use in mirroring the process in your own enclosure. If nothing else, they may prove to of value as a conduit to their chief. With the Duke of Wulfram already known to be so enamoured of the advancement of mechanickal industry, it might be of some profit to appeal to him directly from your own offices in Tannersburg. As the majority of our gunworks remain under the control of his forces, you may find it easier to present such an argument than I, if you are able to do so in person.

I look forward to your reply, confident in the knowledge that if we here in Aetoria are incapable of securing some profit from the current crisis, you will.

-James d'al Gutierrez, Baronet.

Wanted: Topics for Next January

Please choose one topic from each of the lists below, and reply with the respective letter and number of your chosen topics in the comments below.

Voting will go until December 21st, 11:59 PM (Pacific Time).

Topics marked with the asterisk (*) have been chosen by backers at the $10-a-month tier. They will be available for voting this month only, unless they are suggested again for next February.

Please reply with your choices in the comments below.

A Soldier's Guide to the Infinite Sea

A) Garing, Gutierrez, and Truscott - A History: A brief history of GG&T, from its humble beginnings during the Petty Kingdoms era, through its establishment as a major armsmaking firm during the Wars of Unification, to its current status as the Unified Kingdom's largest gunmaker.

B) The Saintly Martyrs: An overview of the worship of the Saints in the Northern Kingdoms, including biographies of selected Sainted Martyrs, iconography, and cosmology.

C) Old Calligia - What We Know: The Kian poet J'eanne Lieux once said that "The only thing we know about Old Calligia are the lies". While not entirely true, very little of the long-gone northern realm has survived. This essay from the University of San'heu attempts to put together the pieces.

D) Warfare Then and Now: A relatively broad overview of the history of war and warfare in the Infinite Sea, taken from a part of a Callindrian children's book.

E) Edmund Garing, In His Own Words: An autobiographical account of the junior partner of GG&T, edited by the Countess of Welles for her report on the War in Antar.

F) Clerks and Commoners: Selections from a children's book written for the scions of the Tierran nobility, meant as their first real education in the classes and dynamics of the Baneless classes.

G) A Report on Tutors and Tutelage: Commissioned by the Royal University of Aetoria, this report investigates the education baneblooded children receive before they are admitted to the University itself.

H) A Call to Arms to the Faithful of the Tree: A religious tract summarising the worship of the Tree of Life, and calling for a renewed age of religious devotion in an age of Takaran secularism.

I) The Compleat Knight: A somewhat tongue-in-cheek guide to the behaviours expected of a Knight of the Red.

J) The Senior Service: A rather self-serving pamphlet extolling the virtues of the Royal Tierran Navy in the context of the army's new prominence following the Dozen Years' War.

L) Notes on a Crisis Pt 2: More collected notes from Queen Isobel's private correspondence, dealing with the fallout of her use of the royal veto.

*M) On the Adoption of the New Rifle: A GG&T memorandum following the Battle of Aetoria, regarding the prospects of introducing a revolutionary new infantry firelock.

*O) A Collection of Reports: A selection of after-action reports from the Dozen Years' War.

*P) Regarding the Disposition of the Fleet: A report regarding the force levels of the Royal Tierran Navy, prior to the outbreak of the civil war.

*Q) On the Treatment of the Blood: A brief overview of how Baneblood is regarded outside of the Northern Kingdoms.

*R) A Serf's Due: An internal report written by a baneless Seeker of the Order of Saint Ignacio, regarding the everyday life of the Antari serf.

An Adventurer's Guide to the Fledgling Realms

1) On Creeds and Cults Pt 3: Folk traditions, cults, and other "marginal" belief systems throughout the Concordat.

*2) Remember That Time We Killed a Dragon?: The story of how Leofric of Kendrickstone and Elaine of Sonnemerci once killed a dragon (probably).

A Creator's Guide to Writing and Worldbuilding

A1) Using Genre Conventions: Every genre comes with its own traditions and conventions. Some of them can be helpful, others... less so. How do you tell the former from the latter?

A2) Sizing Up an Army: When writing an army, how big should you make it? That depends on several things, which I'll be talking about in detail.

A3) Scale Modelling a City: The size of population centres are constrained by terrain, technology, societal norms, and the force of history, let me explain how you can use those things to make your fictional cities more realistically sized.

*A4) Indirect Wars: From Syracuse to Saxe-Weimar, Austria to Angola, the "Proxy War" has been a fixture of human conflict for thousands of years. How do you write one?

December Content Update: The Measure of an Empire

How big should your fictional empire be?

That's a question which is actually two questions: a worldbuilding question, and a storytelling question, with the answer to the latter building upon the answer to the former.

So let's start with the worldbuilding half, which is the question of how big an area any government can be in your setting, on a practical level.

Ultimately, any sort of government (be it totalitarian, democratic, of feudal) relies to varying extents on three networks of control: cultural, bureaucratic, and military. The last of those is the most self-explanatory. The oldest and most basic responsibility of what political theorists call "the state" is the maintenance of internal and external order through the monopoly on the use of force: which is to say, it must have the biggest stick to beat down not only potential rebels and political opponents, but external threats like foreign invasion as well. It seems almost a given that any kind of polity would need a way of maintaining and deploying armed forces to trouble spots in both sufficient numbers and quality, but with sufficient speed as well. An empire which can't defend its outer territories from outside threats will lose those territories, either to foreign conquerors, or locals who've decided that there's no point in continuing to owe loyalty to a metropole which doesn't protect them.

Of course, just because military control is the most obvious network of state control doesn't mean it's the only one, or even the most important one. Those of us who live in vaguely functional states which have been at peace with our neighbours for a long time don't really see evidence of military control at all. Indeed, we tend to see the idea of troops on the streets not as a sign of strength, but of weakness - of a government which is so afraid of its own people that it must rely on guns and jackboots to keep itself in power - the mark of a regime which most of us would consider authoritarian, if not totalitarian; and therefore dysfunctional, malevolent, and unstable.

For a lot of us, that means we tend to see the other two networks of control more often: the bureaucratic and the cultural.

States are not just armies. They are also codes of law, systems of taxation, public services, and communication. These elements comprise the state's Bureaucratic network of control. Through the assignment and deployment of credentialled representatives - bureaucrats - the state can institute what we often refer to as "public policy", the parts of governance which interface directly with the governed. Ideally, these policies benefit both the state and those it governs over: taxes fund public services and common defence, uniform codes of law allow for the judgement of crimes and disputes without starting private feuds, systems of communication allow for different parts of the country to redistribute resources to each other - for example, allowing taxes levied from one province to fund an army defending another.

But for Bureaucratic control to work, it needs to be something which the people paying the taxes and filling up the ranks of the armies need to see as a net benefit. This is where Cultural control comes in. This doesn't necessarily mean that each constituent region needs to have the same religion or national identity as the metropole, it simply means that at the end of the day, the people on the street believe that they're better off with the state in charge than without it - that they believe the public services they get are worth the taxes they pay, and that the armies they fund and people aren't pointed at them more than towards a common enemy.

All three of these networks of control are essentially subject to logistical bottlenecks, ones governed by technology and infrastructure. Cultural control relies on the flow of information from the metropole to the periphery, to ensure that everyone's on the same page - at least about the government and its policies. This means that its limits are the speed of the ability to send words and pictures. An empire which has telegraphs or sending spells can spread that network far faster than one reliant on horse couriers. Likewise, bureaucratic control relies on the ability to send those bureaucrats to where they need to go, and to both resource them and discipline them if any should step out of line. That relies on the ability to move small groups of people or small cargoes quickly: the quality of roads is a huge part of this, so's shipbuilding, and the availability of infrastructure like relay stations for horses.

Maintaining military control is perhaps the most difficult of all, because armies aren't just a lot of people and their equipment, they're also all the supplies you need to keep those people armed and fed. This means you need infrastructure capable of through-putting massive amounts of cargo: wide roads, large cargo ships, big magical portals, railroads, starships. Armies (and fleets) are an absolute pain to get from point A to point B. Moving large armies over land, especially before railroads, is a painstakingly slow process for a whole variety of reasons - doubly so if you don't want to lose three quarters of that army to desertion, disease, and starvation along the way. There's a reason why so many empires built immense infrastructural networks to allow themselves to redeploy and project their military control - be it Rome's military roads, Britain's coaling stations, or even the modern US military's wide network of overseas airbases.

This is all important because each of these three networks reinforce each other in a way which ensures that the failure of one will make it easier for the others to fail. Bureaucratic failure means a government can't collect taxes, impose policy, or maintain discipline within its own power structure - which means the governed lose faith in the ability of their government to function, the armies don't get paid, and regional administrators and military commanders begin thinking of themselves more as local warlords than public servants. Cultural failure means taxes don't get paid, armies don't get recruits, and the ones that do show up are less likely to believe in what they're fighting for. Military failure means that the people on the frontier don't feel like their taxes are protecting them, and that the central government doesn't have the force to keep its own local bureaucrats and other powerbrokers in line.

What makes all this more complicated is that the criteria for "failure" isn't set either. These networks of control aren't being graded on a scorecard, but they're being compared with potential alternatives, not just internal (in the sense of regional particularists who think a given area might be better off by themselves) but external ones (if people think another country can offer a better deal than their current one, they might as well switch sides en-masse). Losing these competitions is generally what brings empires down: outer provinces think they're better off independent, or the metropole no longer thinks they have enough in common with the periphery to bother protecting or providing services for them. These are the failures which often get described as "decadence" or "corruption" or "internal rot", and almost every empire in history has met its end at least partially because of them.

Note that this isn't to say that an empire which fails to maintain one of these networks is one which can't exist. Almost every state's networks of control exist in an active state of complex competition with its competitors, a competition which the state "wins" or "loses" on the case-to-case basis of an individual citizen. Some people will support a government no matter how badly it fails them. Others have standards so high that no state could ever really fulfil them. What a state tries to do is maintain those networks of control over as many people within the territory they want to claim as possible, so that those who support the government and accept its control will always outnumber those who prefer a different alternative.

If you look at history, you'll see that a lot of previously common systems of government actually kind of accept that they're going to fail at maintaining certain elements of control and are structured accordingly. Feudalism (or Manorialism) for example, simply assumes that a central government will never has Bureaucratic control, so instead it co-opts the local elites who will. In short, in a Feudal system, the central government's networks of control only extend to landowning aristocracy, who in turn impose their own networks of control over their own vassals in a way which means the central government has very little direct control over them. The result is a system which is in many ways sacrifices breadth for depth: while a central authority can maintain sovereignty over a much wider area than they would through direct rule, they also must deal with nobility who are constantly incentivised to go independent with the people and lands they have direct control over. It's telling that the medieval and early-modern Kings of France and Holy Roman Emperors spent more time at war with their own nobility than with outside threats.

This is all to say that the failure of a government to maintain one of these systems of control doesn't necessarily mean it's doomed. It just means that there are obvious sources of instability which lead to conflicts between central authority and local interests, which might lead to the disintegration of the realm, or a might not - which is to say it creates conflict and uncertainty. Those are terrible things for the fictional individuals who would live under that society, but for you the storyteller, those are going to be your bread and butter.

Which leads us to the second half of the question. We've covered the principles which determine how large a fictional state can be, but we haven't covered how big it should be relative to those limits which your setting's technology, infrastructure, and geopolitics allow - and how remaining within those limits, or exceeding them might serve the story you want to tell.

What does that mean? It means that if you want to tell a story set in a Empire which is already in a state of fatal decline, then you can make that Empire one which has exceeded its means to maintain its own stability. Make its frontiers too far from its capital. Make its armies too distant to respond to threats effectively. Make its bureaucracy unable to deliver the public goods and make its people identify more with their hometown or the local warlord than a distant central authority. Maybe you want to sent your story in an Empire which is still conquering, is losing its ability to keep expanding? Then likewise, give it a size it can't maintain, but make it so those in charge don't realise that they've exceeded their grasp until you need them to.

This goes the other way too. Say you want to create a society which is well-run and efficient. Then you'd be best encouraged to keep it within the limits of what it can maintain. Perhaps those in charge are actually aware of what those limits are precisely - which is a great way of showing off that the political elites aren't willing to let their ambition get ahead of them. Maybe they would normally have exceeded the limits which are set by their technology, but they've developed some clever way of extending those limits for one network or another - even if that means overtaxing the others. For example, maybe the Empire maintains wide networks of military control by stationing armies in the provinces - but they're too distant to be kept paid and equipped by the central bureaucracy - which means they have to rely on, and begin to identify more with the locals they're supposed to be policing over the distant central authority they're supposed to answer to.

If you want conflict, then having one network of control weaker than the others provides a wealth of good story hooks. If military control is weak, then you have the perfect setup for a foreign invasion. Cultural control is weak? Peasant rebellion. Bureaucratic control is weak? Disloyal generals and local administrators, leading to civil war. Those are just a very narrow range of potential stories for very specifically stories that require some kind of armed conflict. There are easily just as many possibilities if you want to tell a story about class inequality, ethnic tension, religious strife, or financial corruption. 

So to sum up: how big can your fictional empire be? As big as the available technology, infrastructure, and potential competition allow it to be. How big should it be? That depends on both the answer to that first question, and the nature of the setting you want to set your story in.

December Content Update: Farming in the Fledgling Realms

Agriculture in the Fledgling Realms

Despite the many varied cultures of the Fledgling Realms, despite the power of magic, the ingenuity of skilled crafters, and the increasing proliferation of wonders both arcane and mechanical, one constant remains: that of the primacy of agriculture. In all societies with only few exceptions, the vast majority of the population are committed to the process of working the land, harvesting its bounties, and raising flocks upon them. In the Concordat, anywhere from two out of three to three out of four individuals are directly engaged in farming or animal husbandry - a proportion which would be even higher if not for the intervention of arcane forces and the expertise of the many and varied hedge magicians and herbalists who ensure that the productivity of the land is as great as human labour and ingenuity allow. 

Proportions in the Nizam-i Khazar and the Korilandine Empire are of similar proportions, though due to the differing circumstances of climate, population, and systems of governance, the means by which they coax the greatest possible harvest out of the land differs greatly.

1: Agriculture in the Concordat

In the Concordat, where populations are scattered, land remains plentiful, central authority is almost non-existent, and infrastructure is scarce, farming is often the business of individual families. Most commonly, an extended family of peasants will maintain a homestead centred around a cottage and a small number of animals. Collectively, they will work a relatively small plot of perhaps fifteen or twenty acres. These homesteads are usually clustered around a market square, forming a village, alongside the workshops of local crafters, and a Sanctuary of the Divine Court. The village serves to provide services and solutions outside the scope of the individual homestead. A village may group together for common defence, or to remove an obstacle which might require many hands. A homestead may purchase tools from crafters, and sell their goods in the market square. The Watcher of the Divine Court provides healing services and addresses spiritual needs, while the hedge mages and herbalists which often live in the countryside make their living by curing blights, healing the soil, and managing the growth of crops by arcane means.

If seen from above, it quickly becomes apparent that the plots of land around a village tend to push our in concentric circles, allowing for terrain features like rivers or cliffsides. This is due to the unique way in which Concordat farming households manage matters of inheritance. While it is customary for the eldest child to inherit the land upon the deaths or seclusion of their parents, those younger siblings who feel too confined by their presence in their own household and refuse to move to another are encouraged to set up new homesteads with their own families beyond the land already under cultivation. With the assistance of their relatives - and often the whole village - a new plot is cleared out from the wilds, and put under the plough. Thus, bit by bit, the wild lands of the Concordat are tamed a little more with every passing generation.

Of course, these wilds are still far from safe: brigands, wild animals, and the sorcerous legacies of the Flowering Court all provide a certain degree of danger which often requires professionals to resolve. The job of addressing these threats falls to those who rule over the villages as protectors and guardians, the Concordat's class of Landed Knights. Being experienced fighters with excellent equipment, lifelong training, and armed retinues, these individuals are charged with protecting settlements every day of every year, a duty which does not allow them the time or resources to farm for their own sustenance. As a result, Landed Knights are usually given a considerable stretch of farmland which each peasant under their protection is expected to work one day out of every week. In return, they not only receive the protection of the Knight and their retinue, but also the right to shelter in the Knight's keep, should such a thing be needed.

2: Agriculture in the Korilandine Empire

In Korilandis, where arable land is altogether more scarce, the patterns of agriculture are likewise entirely different. While the Korilandine Empire is mostly known for its deserts, the rivers which cross the empire also support narrow river valleys which regular floods have made immensely rich cropland. While these areas are extremely fertile, they also only make up a tiny fraction of the Empire's total breadth. As a result, measures have been developed to ensure that the largest possible harvest may be squeezed out of the smallest possible land area. Thus the crops commonly grown are not the wheat and barley of the Concordat, but rice and sorghum, which require more water, but produce far more in the way of harvests for a given area.

In addition, the Mansa's own servants have taken up the responsibility of ensuring that every measure of land which might bear crops can do so. To this end, the Mansa maintains an imperial corps of irrigators, made of mages and engineers trained for the task of laying out, building, and maintaining irrigation canals which bring the waters of the Empire's rivers to areas which might otherwise never have been covered. Armed with the authority to draw upon military resources for materials and labour, the Irrigators have greatly extended the boundaries of the river valleys in which almost all Korilandine crops grow. As a result, they are perhaps the most well-respected arm of the Mansa's government, and its senior officers are given places in the Mansa's household. 

Of course, such experts are paid in more than respect. The Irrigators also reserve the right to section off land which their canals water for their own maintenance and upkeep. These lands are usually used for the growing of valuable crops like cotton, which is in turn sold as an Imperial monopoly to fund not only the Irrigators, but much of the rest of the Mansa's government. However, despite the immense wealth they bring in, these "Crown Lands" only make up perhaps a tenth of the land under cultivation at any one time. The rest remains in private hands, primarily those of small landholders who often join in cartels with their fellow farmers to control the prices of food in a given area. As a result, these landholders and their families enjoy considerable prosperity - although that prosperity does not always trickle down to the hired labour which is necessary to effectively maintain and harvest crops like rice - and who make up the vast majority of the Korilandine agricultural workforce.

3: Agriculture in the Nizam-i Khazar

In the Nizam-i Khazar, where land is more plentiful, but altogether more populated, a different approach entirely is used. While much of the land in the outer governates remains under private cultivation and the growth and husbandry of crops and animals considered less essential to the sustenance of the population remains the province of small landholders and ranchers, the crops which are seen as the core staples of the immense cities of the realm's core governates - wheat, millet, and rye among others - are controlled directly by the Sultana's government. This is the prerogative of the powerful Office of Common Works and Welfare, which also maintains roads, city walls, and fights poverty - often with the same tools at its disposal.

This it does through the use of a vast number of indentured servants, some of these brought in as petty criminals, or as a result of tax arrears. Others volunteer due to poverty or unemployment. Through hard labour, they earn food, accommodation, and a small stipend which is intended to pay for whatever luxuries they might desire. Working in gangs of anywhere from two dozen to over a hundred under the watchful eye of skilled engineers and artificers, these labourers maintain the irrigation canals, and work the vast machinery which is used to plough, sow, and harvest fields with great efficiency.

The practicality of this system is mostly the result of the sheer size of the state-owned fields in question. It is not uncommon for a single such estate to encompass tens of thousands of acres, with the tools and labour needed to work such fields centralised in a handful of depots. This makes for highly efficient agriculture through the use of expensive and complex machinery and irrigation works - which might be impractical for a field of twenty acres worked by a single family, but would easily pay for itself and more when used with a field of ten thousand acres worked by five hundred. 

This efficiency is the Sultana's gain, for as the state fields are directly managed by her government (in particular, her Grand Vizier, who maintains direct authority over the Office of Common Works), the proceeds from the harvests of these fields are also hers to do with as she sees fit - minus the proportion needed to feed the labour which work the fields in the first place. These surpluses are usually then sold within the cities at fixed prices, the proceeds of which are enough to not only pay for the maintenance of the system, but provide a tidy profit for the throne as well. As a result, the Sultana profits, those who don't have work are given it, and the cities of the Nizam-i Khazar are given a constant supply of staple foods at reliably low prices.

December Content Update: A Regiment Divided - The Red and Blue Lancers

A REGIMENT DIVIDED

or

THE TRUE DISPOSITION OF THOSE BODIES OF FIGHTING MEN PREVIOUSLY KNOWN AS THE WHITE ROSE LANCERS,

NOW CALLED "RED" OR "BLUE" LANCERS BY VIRTUE OF THEIR ALLEGIANCES.

THE SITUATION

With our land so divided betwixt personal and politickal loyalties, it seems in these unpleasant days that every body of armed men serves no longer the good of the common wealth and the people of the realm, but their own narrow loyalties - not for the sake of a greater weal, but in the name of their paymasters, their chiefs, those to whom they can look to for promotion and advancement in the case of victory, or shelter in the case of defeat. Thus, the Grenadiers have rallied to their Aetorian Queen, and thus the Cuirassiers have assembled just as loyally to their Duke of Wulfram. Other regiments too, have rallied to one flag or the other, as have the Houseguards of the Cortes Lords, whose arms are bourne now in the name not of common defence, but the politickal loyalties of their masters.

There are few exceptions to such a rule. The officers of the Royal Dragoons have followed the lead of their Colonel in declaring neutrality - or else flocked to the side which has seemed to them best placed to offer them advantage. The White Rose Lancers, on the other hand, appear to have found themselves in a situation of rather greater confusion. Many have followed Viscount Palliser to the ranks of the Aetorian Queen, whilst others follow the lead of their own Colonel, who sits upon the council of the Duke of Wulfram. Thus, a single regiment has been split in two, and although both bodies remain a shadow of their strength (their numbers having already been sapped by the years of peace and now reduced still by the violence which commenced this current and most unhappy state of affairs), it seems that the chiefs of both forces intend on raising men to fill the so-recently-emptied ranks so as to bring these two regiments - these 'Red' and 'Blue' Lancers - to full wartime strength. 

At a glance, these two forces may seem evenly matched. Both are currently of similar numbers. Both possess secure bases - the Red Lancers in Aetoria and the Blue at Tannersburg - which are nonetheless far away from the Regiment's regular recruiting grounds in Warburton. Both even still wear the same uniforms, carry the same weapons, and ride in the same tack; distinguished only by the coloured sashes and scarves from which they draw the names which they are now known by. It may seem to a casual observer that neither force is more or less legitimate than the other, and that both are as worthy an heir to the original as the other.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

FACT: The BLUE LANCERS remain under the command of its RIGHTFUL COLONEL IN CHIEF

While there is little question that many talented and experienced officers have gone over to the Aetorian Queen and her Red Lancers, such a fact cannot counterbalance the truth that the Blue Lancers retain the most valuable person of all, that of the Duke of Warburton. For all that Palliser and his officers may boast of their experience against the Antari, they cannot lay claim to the rightful office of Colonel-in-Chief, which has always been in the possession of the House of Harris, whose current head sits upon the Duke of Wulfram's council. As a result, Palliser does not sit as a rightful commanding officer in his own right, but as a mutinous deputy, who has thrown over his own superior officer, and taken a number of his subordinates into mutiny with him. All of the customs and laws of military discipline name him and those who believe themselves under his command as derelict in their duty - a fact which no amount of fighting experience or past accolade can erase.

FACT: The BLUE LANCERS retain possession of their traditional RECRUITING GROUNDS

Although the Blue Lancers currently maintain quarters in Tannersburg, their allies in the Duke of Wulfram's camp also retain control of the regions of the country from which come the regiment's recruits. Ask any fighting officer worthy of the name, and he will you that it is not uniforms or weapons which make the character of a regiment, but the men which fill its ranks. This means that as both regiments are raised to wartime strength, the Blue Lancers will be able to retain its accustomed character, since its new recruits will be made up of the same good Warburtonian stock which has always made up its ranks. The Red Lancers, on the other hand, will necessarily need adulterate their depleted cadre of original Lancers with recruits from Aetoria, who are of different and altogether unsuitable temperament. The Blue Lancers will retain the character which has made it renowned. The Red Lancers, on the other hand, will slowly become an Aetorian regiment, manned by a those of a character wholly inferior to their counterparts in regard to the matters which a regiment of lancers must excel at.

FACT: The BLUE LANCERS alone may rely on reliable supply of PAY and RATIONS

The continued presence of the rightful Colonel also serves as another advantage for the Blue Lancers, as it is the Colonel who is required to provide for matters of pay and supply. While it cannot be denied that the Viscount Palliser is in possession of a considerable fortune, he does not possess the estates necessary to maintain it whilst also providing for the upkeep of a regiment. With the Aetorian Crown in a position of deep obligation to its creditors, it seems unlikely that the Queen is any more likely to offer relief when it inevitably becomes necessary. The Duke of Warburton on the other hand, retains the possession of his estates and the great incomes which derive from them, allowing him to support the upkeep of the Blue Lancers indefinitely, just as he did during years of peace. Thus only the Blue Lancers may rest assured that their pay will never be stopped for want of funds on the part of their Colonel.

FACT: The BLUE LANCERS remain in possession of their reserves and supply of MOUNTS

It is well understood that the capabilities of a cavalryman are much reliant on the particular qualities of his horse. When it comes to the duties of a lancer, it is the Warburtonian breed which is unquestionably the best suited for the tasks required of it, being more agile than the Cunarian destrier, lighter than the Wulframite charger, but more robust and hardy than those beasts commonly bred in Aetoria. With such qualities in mind, it becomes clear that only a regiment which retains access to the breeding farms and pastures of Warburton may mount its squadrons in a manner best fit for purpose, and that access remains exclusively the province of the Blue Lancers, not the Red.

FACT: The BLUE LANCERS remain in possession of their accustomed BARRACKS and STABLES

While the Blue Lancers may reside for the moment in Tannersburg, their home barracks and stables remain in Warburton. There they possess not only remounts and stockpiles of their own accustomed armaments, but the museum of the regiment, its formal mess hall, and all the other accoutrements and adornments which a regimental establishment requires. Once free to do so, the Blue Lancers may return to those accustomed barracks and stables built to especial purpose for their own regiment and its mounts. The Red Lancers, in contrast, have no such luxury. The slapdash accommodations which they are currently burdened with in Aetoria are the only ones which they possess, and as a result, they are cut off from the history and a great many of the conveniences which have much embellished the existence of the regiment they claim descent from.

Thus is presented the reality of the matter, that these two divergent regiments - seemingly equal - are in fact possessed of vastly differing circumstances. Given such intelligence, it is certain the most persons of discerning attitude might easily see the merits of one over the other.

Wanted: Topics for December

Please choose one topic from each of the lists below, and reply with the respective letter and number of your chosen topics in the comments below.

Voting will go until November 21st, 11:59 PM (Pacific Time).

Topics marked with the asterisk (*) have been chosen by backers at the $10-a-month tier. They will be available for voting this month only, unless they are suggested again for next January.

Please reply with your choices in the comments below.

A Soldier's Guide to the Infinite Sea

A) Garing, Gutierrez, and Truscott - A History: A brief history of GG&T, from its humble beginnings during the Petty Kingdoms era, through its establishment as a major armsmaking firm during the Wars of Unification, to its current status as the Unified Kingdom's largest gunmaker.

B) The Saintly Martyrs: An overview of the worship of the Saints in the Northern Kingdoms, including biographies of selected Sainted Martyrs, iconography, and cosmology.

C) Old Calligia - What We Know: The Kian poet J'eanne Lieux once said that "The only thing we know about Old Calligia are the lies". While not entirely true, very little of the long-gone northern realm has survived. This essay from the University of San'heu attempts to put together the pieces.

D) Warfare Then and Now: A relatively broad overview of the history of war and warfare in the Infinite Sea, taken from a part of a Callindrian children's book.

E) Edmund Garing, In His Own Words: An autobiographical account of the junior partner of GG&T, edited by the Countess of Welles for her report on the War in Antar.

F) Clerks and Commoners: Selections from a children's book written for the scions of the Tierran nobility, meant as their first real education in the classes and dynamics of the Baneless classes.

G) A Report on Tutors and Tutelage: Commissioned by the Royal University of Aetoria, this report investigates the education baneblooded children receive before they are admitted to the University itself.

H) A Call to Arms to the Faithful of the Tree: A religious tract summarising the worship of the Tree of Life, and calling for a renewed age of religious devotion in an age of Takaran secularism.

I) The Compleat Knight: A somewhat tongue-in-cheek guide to the behaviours expected of a Knight of the Red.

J) The Senior Service: A rather self-serving pamphlet extolling the virtues of the Royal Tierran Navy in the context of the army's new prominence following the Dozen Years' War.

*L) Notes on a Crisis Pt 2: More collected notes from Queen Isobel's private correspondence, dealing with the fallout of her use of the royal veto.

*M) On the Adoption of the New Rifle: A GG&T memorandum following the Battle of Aetoria, regarding the prospects of introducing a revolutionary new infantry firelock.

*N) Rules for Tassenswerd: Learn how to play the Tierran aristocracy's favourite way of losing money. (You will need a deck of cards, and the ability to do simple multiplication in your head).

*O) A Collection of Reports: A selection of after-action reports from the Dozen Years' War.

*P) Letters from Santamor: Letters from a certain M'hidyossi noble family, whose daughter happened to have the misfortune of marrying a Cazarosta.

*Q) A Regiment Divided: The "Blue" and "Red" Lancers: An overview of the state of the White Rose Lancers, now divided into Wulframite (Blue) and Royalist (Red) factions. 

An Adventurer's Guide to the Fledgling Realms

1) On Creeds and Cults Pt 3: Folk traditions, cults, and other "marginal" belief systems throughout the Concordat.

2) Farming in the Fledgling Realms: How does agriculture work in the Fledgling Realms? 

A Creator's Guide to Writing and Worldbuilding

A1) Using Genre Conventions: Every genre comes with its own traditions and conventions. Some of them can be helpful, others... less so. How do you tell the former from the latter?

A2) Sizing Up an Army: When writing an army, how big should you make it? That depends on several things, which I'll be talking about in detail.

A3) Scale Modelling a City: The size of population centres are constrained by terrain, technology, societal norms, and the force of history, let me explain how you can use those things to make your fictional cities more realistically sized.

A4) The Measure of an Empire: So, your story has a setting, and that setting has kingdoms, regions, provinces, or federations. How big should they be?

November Content Update: Notes on a Crisis Pt 1

NOTES ON A CRISIS

6/2/617

Awoken early today. Case White.

To say that this was completely unexpected would be to lie. There are contingencies in place. There are preparations left in waiting for a day which I had hoped would not come, but which has presented itself regardless.

My personal sentiments would drive me to suppress the spread of this intelligence, if only to give myself the time to mourn in private. My personal sentiments must make way for the exigencies of this service which I have now succeeded to. Any attempt to obstruct or otherwise conceal this news for any reason would be seen as duplicity, and such an impression would only serve ill for the credibility of the Crown, a matter of chiefest importance at such a moment.

Halford is due to arrive within the hour. From him, the rest of the realm will be made aware. I may have a few hours subsequent to compose myself before all Aetoria upends itself. I must use that time wisely.

------

6/4/617

Clear now that W. does not intend to challenge the succession. His attitude of these past two days has been the very picture of conciliation. There is no doubt now that he believes patience to be the best strategy.

Perhaps he is right. Once again, the compromises of Edwin the Strong are found to have burnt unevenly on the pyre. Legal precedent renders me both ward and guardian of the powers which have recently come to me. W. may attempt to force a Cortes regency, though such a move would likely strain the bounds of legality - something which he is yet loathe to do.

No, more likely he will attempt some new compromise, to frame himself as a guarantor of my powers rather than a guardian - a position which will outwardly seem to favour me but accrue to himself all leverage. For all that he is a fool in other matters, he remains a champion sophist.

But if I am to deny him such a compromise, I must ensure that he lacks the means to force the issue. Aetoria is a boiling pot which will scald whomever it is tipped towards first. Its base must be made firm before all else.

------

6/5/617

My Lord Halford,

It is not our intention to allow for any deterioration of the splendour and majesty of this institution. However, one forgets himself if one is to believe such aspects anything more than supports for the structure of legitimacy. 

Under normal circumstances, a coronation in the traditional style may serve us well, but given the straitened disposition of much of the country, such a ceremony could very well be seen as an unwarranted extravagance at a time when the country may ill afford it.

The decision stands. We have already spent more than we can spare on mourning white. To triple that expenditure on oranges and blues would be inadvisable at this time.

-IR

------

6/5/617

Sir Daniel,

Regarding your memorandum of yesterday, I must make agreement with all of your points presented therein. That the Highland Regiment must be rated the most trusted corps of the Army save for the Grenadiers in these circumstances cannot be denied, nor might the ability or loyalty of its Colonel in Chief.

However, it is precisely because of these reasons that I must decline to follow the course of actions you have advised.

Firstly, there is the fact that the reputation which has served the Highlanders so well on the field of battle will work against them in the circumstances which you advise deploying them. Few in the city will rest easily with men of such foreign customs and fearsome aspect patrolling their streets, and the very actions which have made your own regiment odious to so many in the city this autumn last are common practise amongst the Kentauri.

Secondly, any prolonged absence from Kentaur by the greater part of Clan Havenport's armed strength will serve to render the whole of the region more unstable. The Highlanders are needed to hold the south more than they are needed here.

Lastly, should the Crown seek to deploy upon the streets of Aetoria a regiment known to be loyal to it, certain interested parties will almost certainly be provoked to rashness, under the impression that we seek to accomplish the very ends which you propose to strive for. It does not serve the interests of the Crown to be seen as attempting the overthrow of its own Cortes by force of arms.

Find another regiment for this task.

-Isobel

------

6/7/617

Discounting the Highlanders leaves me with three potential options, which means I am left with one option.

The Marines would seem fit for the task on first glance, being as they are accustomed to the practise of keeping order aboard ships of war. However, they are not suited for long marches, and I suspect too close to the Admiralty Club, which in turn has fallen under W. and his party.

The Lancers might be more fit to cover ground, but their attitude and their armament make them poorly suited to keeping order. Likewise, to treat them as trustworthy in carrying out the Crown's business would greatly compromise the position of its Colonel in Chief in a manner which will be detrimental to the interests of the country.

That only leaves one corps with the appropriate drill and armament, whose disposition might be agreeable to all parties. That leaves only one regiment which might be called to Aetoria.

------

6/7/617

To His Grace, the Duke of Cunaris

Colonel Commanding, the Royal Dragoon Regiment.

Given the current state of affairs, we have seen fit to place your command at the direct disposal of the Crown for the purpose of maintaining peace, order, and good governance within our capital of Aetoria. In pursuance of that aim, the following measures are to be taken.

Effective immediately, the regiment is authorised to recruit to wartime strength of six squadrons.

Effective immediately, all officers on half-pay are to be recalled to active service.

Effective immediately, the three squadrons comprising the regiment's peacetime strength are to make way for Aetoria, where they will present themselves as fit for service at the Southern Keep in no more than ten days following the receipt of these orders.

Upon arrival, His Grace is expected to present himself at soonest opportunity before the Privy Council for further instructions.

Isobel

General-Royal

November Content Update: Festivals of the Fledgling Realms

FESTIVALS OF THE FLEDGLING REALMS

Montfort Day

Most of the festivals celebrated by the various settlements of the Iron Marches are similar to those which are celebrated in the Concordat. With most of the population hailing from that region, it seems almost a matter of course that they would bring many of their festivals days with them. However, the unique circumstances and frontier conditions of the Iron Marches have given rise to a series of new celebrations, chief among them, Montfort Day.

In short, Montfort Day marks the arrival of the first caravan from the Iron League's headquarters. It is not a fixed day, but simply a festival held the day the first caravan of the spring arrives, marking the end of the rainy and snowy winter which renders great stretches of the Iron Road impassable. For the small, isolated, and often precarious settlements along the Iron Road, the arrival of the first Montfort Caravan represents the end of winter's isolation, the return of links to more deeply rooted bastions of civilisation, and the fact that the settlement has survived the hardest part of the year, and might now look forward to the relatively easier conditions of late spring and summer.

Of course, the Iron League itself does much to encourage the celebration of this day - which after all, can also be seen as a testament to just how integral the League is to the survival of the settlements of the Iron Marches. In these days, those first caravans from Montfort often come laden not only with the customary loads of supplies, but kegs of beer and ale, cured meats, and a great number of peddlars and other travelling merchants intent on selling their wares and services to settlements which have every reason to let loose for a day to mark their triumph over another hard year. The attractiveness of joining such a convoy is enhanced by the League's own policy of doubling the guards provided to the first caravan of the year, ensuring that not even the most hardened bandits could risk disrupting such a ritual.

Thus, the atmosphere of the first Montfort Caravan is like a great travelling fairground, albeit one surrounded by armed guards. When the caravan arrives at a settlement, there is a day of drinking and feasting. Trestle tables are laid out, and the square is given to dancing and music. No work is done. The Divine Court is thanked for allowing the settlement to survive the winter, and toasts are drunk to individuals who were not so lucky as the whole. Even those from settlements which exist outside of the Iron League's control have been known to show themselves on Montfort Day, if only to take advantage of the sale of luxuries and delicacies which they might never have access to. 

When the day passes, there is customarily a second day of rest, to allow the locals to recover from their hangovers, and to give the caravanners time to make last minute deals and pack up. This done, the locals go back to work, and the First caravan continues on its way, repeating the process, until it reaches the end of the Iron Road, celebrating Montfort Day for the last time of the year perhaps a month and a half after the first.

The Golden Circuit

The Mansa of Korilandis holds the same duties as most rulers: the giver of law, the face of the realm in diplomacy, and the leader of the Empire's armies in war. However, the Mansa alone holds another duty, that of ensuring the wealth and prosperity of his vast empire. Every beggar who lives in poverty, every merchant who goes bankrupt, every artisan unable to sell their goods is considered a failure of the Mansa's reign, and one which reflects poorly on the sovereign's ability to reign. Likewise, those who grow wealthy under the Mansa's rule are proof of his suitability.

There are, of course, mundane means of ensuring this prosperity: trade agreements, low taxes, the protection of caravan routes. However, to the Korilandines, the most important of these means is one which is rather more ritual than policy. Once during his reign - usually shortly after his coronation - the Mansa is expected to tour all the great cities of his realm. At each, he is supposed to spend a day dispensing large amounts of his personal wealth in gold to the poor and the unfortunate. Likewise, the governors of the cities themselves are expected to do the same on a lesser scale, touring the city and giving out some portion of the provincial administration's wealth every year, on the anniversary of the Mansa's coronation.

Ultimately, this is more than simply a show of generosity and largesse. It is also a magical ritual of immense power. Just as a Korilandine mage might use a small tag of iron to heat a larger iron bar through the power of sympathy, or irrigate a field by splashing a small bowl of water onto dry land, the Mansa and his governors distribute gold to those least fortunate to deliver wealth and prosperity to the entire realm. Few Korilandines ever contest the logic - as it is the same logic which underpins all of their obviously quite functional schools of magic. Mansas who never complete their Golden Circuits are known to have had unfortunate and unpleasant reigns, while a governor who fails to perform their own duties is one whose removal is quickly demanded.

As for the day itself, it is one which naturally centres around the figure of the Mansa himself. When the Sovereign arrives in person on his so-called "Great Circuit", the city in question bedecks itself in shows of loyalty, and the population of the whole city assembles to greet the visiting monarch. The process of distribution takes the entire day, and the evening is often given over to feasting and revelry. In particular, the beggars who are poor enough to have benefitted from the Mansa's generosity are often given free food and drink, to ensure that the ritual not only ensures the Empire's safety from poverty, but from drought and famine as well. The "Lesser Circuits" of the governors take on a similar shape. Although lesser in scale and extravagance, their more predictable dating and more common occurrence make them perhaps the most anticipated day of the year.

The Day of the Guns

It is difficult to overestimate the importance of gunpowder artillery when it comes to the stories which the Khazari tell themselves about their greatness. It was the cannon which broke the Khwarzen forts, and created the modern shape of the Nizam-i Khazar. It is cannon still which serves as the primary advantage of the Sultana's armies, granting them victory after victory in lands now far from the Khazari homeland. The cannon is not only a symbol of military might, but of the unity, organisation, and intellect of the society which was needed to forge, maintain, and effectively use these weapons in battle. It is as much a symbol of the Khazari people themselves as the bardiche, the tax ledger, or the Sultana's own regalia - and it is celebrated as such.

The Day of the Guns falls in early summer, on the anniversary of the day on which Murad III's new artillery to open fired on the Khwarzen Forts. Although Murad himself was not present to give the order on that day, his legacy as the first Sultans is inextricably bound up with the holiday, as are his deeds, which are recounted in public squares by poets and musicians. In the capital, a great procession is held, with either the Sultana or her Vizier at its head.

But the long-dead Sultan does not hold pride of place on the Day of the Guns. That honour goes to the guns themselves. It is the day in which the local militias parade in their best clothing, their weapons polished and cleaned - and more importantly, their cannon prepared not only for assembly, but for action. At noon, all across the Nizam-i Khazar, every cannon assembled for the purpose is fired, in a grand cannonade meant to represent the might of the Sultana's armies, and the unity of her people. 

Once this solemn and martial ritual is completed, the day is given over to rather less rigid events. Indentured labourers in particular are given the day off, and free food and drink, in recognition of their forebears who hauled Murad III's great guns into place. Ball games and footraces are held, usually with prizes offered. Cakes and delicacies - in particular, one manner of pastry made to look like the turrets and bastions of a fortress, and another rolled up and frosted to resemble a marble cannon ball - are served usually at the expense of local officials. Those Khazari whose ancestors fought at the Khwarzen Fords are encouraged to re-enact the deeds of their forebears. 

It is a day and an evening of high spirits, but it carries with it always the reminder that such efforts are easily turned from revelry to war, and that the very object of the day's celebration is also the implement with which the Khazari vanquish their enemies.

The Opening of the Sea

Given the immense importance of maritime trade and warfare to the Island-Cities, it ought to come as no surprise that the day in which the first ships of the year leave port is considered the most important of the year. Not only does such an occasion mark the beginning of the trading season, but it also much mark the day in which the denizens of the Island-Cities must show their devotion and make their offerings to the All-Encompassing Sea, to compensate it for the wealth which is to be wrested from its depths or hauled across its surface - or to plead that their own ships of war are spared oblivion in lieu of their enemies'.

This is a day which requires much preparation. Its date is set by the city two weeks or more beforehand, based on the weather, the the political conditions within the city itself. In that time, the city's inhabitants are informed, room is cleared on the docks, and the collected offerings meant to be delivered unto the sea are gathered, tallied, and prepared for the ceremony by the city's religious authorities. In addition, this period of preparation is marked by a great deal of nervous staring at the sky: it is believed that the state of the weather prior to the day of the ceremony is an indication of the city's current relationship with the sea. If skies are clear and the winds are constant, then the city is believed to be on good terms. If the opposite is the case, then sometimes orders for additional offerings are made, in hopes of improving what is clearly a very bad relationship between the city and the sea.

The day of the festival itself is most unlike that of other such days. It is intended to be a profoundly solemn affair. There is no feasting, no drinking, no dancing or singing. Swimming on the day that the Sea is to be Opened is punishable by death as a great sacrilege. The gathered offerings are carried slowly across the city to the place in the harbour intended for it. In times of peace, these offerings will be made of gold - usually coin donated by the denizens of the city melted down into ingots. In times of war, the offerings are iron instead - or in cases of great extremity or extravagance, steel. Prior to his disastrous siege of Concordat, the Doge of Fiore ordered an offering that was both steel and silver, both to show off the wealth of his city, and to set hopes that his coming expedition would bring even more treasure.

The subsequent failure of that expedition is proof to most modern Fiorentines that such a gesture was not only a sign of immense hubris, but a sacrilege which was clearly not appreciated by the Sea. Needless to say, the city has stuck to strictly gold, iron, or steel since.

This pattern remains the same all throughout the Island Cities, from the great cities to even the smallest settlement still adhering to the orthodox means of Sea-reverence. To such people, the Opening of the Sea is literally a matter of life and death, with the firm belief that an insufficient or improper offering will lead to a season of disaster not only for those doing the offering, but for the whole of the city. As a result, those religious officials charged with gathering and making the offering on the day of the ceremony are under immense pressure. Should the season turn bad, it will be they who are held responsible. It is not unusual for such officials to be stripped of office or even jailed. On one particular dire occasion, they have even been thrown into the sea themselves, in the hope that their bodies would serve as sufficient compensation for the offering they supposedly bungled.

November Content Update: Modelling Scale

Sci-Fi and Fantasy writers, quite infamously, have no sense of scale. While the often arbitrary numbers we often throw out to quantify the size of an army, or a city's population may seem like the kind of thing you can simply toss out to make a given subject look impressive, any sort of narrative which relies on its worldbuilding to carry it has to keep a proper sense of scale in mind. This is because if you're using your worldbuilding to drive your story, that means your audience is constantly thinking about the worldbuilding as they engage with your narrative - looking through it for context, for clues as to the state of the conflicts within, and so on - and the more they think about the scale of the world you've created, the more likely they are to realise that the size you've given for an army or the population of a city, or the speed of a given vehicle is too great or too small to be realistic.

And that's a problem. Sci-fi and Fantasy are all about immersion, after all. The reason they're able to transport their audiences to worlds which are entirely different from our own is because they're able to create an internally consistent setting capable of holding up to at least the casual scrutiny which a person would hold up the real world to. While that does mean some people will be able to ignore inconsistencies of scale, or even remain entirely ignorant of them, that doesn't mean you won't be losing a lot of potential audience members who are turned off by the fact that the writer of a given story doesn't seem to understand the realities which underpin their work - and therefore is incapable of treating the themes and forces behind their story with the appropriate respect. The more niche you get with your fiction, the more scrutiny you're likely to get as well. If you write a sword-and-sandal heroic fantasy story about a small party of heroes, maybe only a small minority of potential readers would see inconsistent scale as a dealbreaker. On the other hand, if you're trying to write a grounded, detailed story about a quasi-late medieval mercenary company, then you better get the scale right - or else a pretty big chunk of the people who would normally read such a story might simply assume that the creator doesn't have the chops to live up to the promise of the premise.

So, why do we mess up with scale so often? My guess is, it has a lot to do with how humans are wired to think about big numbers.

Humans can pretty intuitively tell the difference between one and two, or two and four, or even ten and a hundred. However, where that intuitive ability breaks down is when we go beyond one or two hundred, and especially once we get past a thousand. While intellectually, we might know that a number with three zeros behind it is ten times that same number with two zeroes behind it, our mind finds it very hard to conceptualise the difference between say, 15 000 and 150 000. As far as our brains are concerned, both numbers qualify as "lots". When it comes to visual mediums, this effect is even more obvious - especially with big crowd scenes. Unless you stop to count up every figure shown on screen, people very rarely have an accurate idea of how big a crowd or an army really is. If you show a big mass of people filling the screen and say it's an arbitrarily big number - say 500 000 - the audience will have very little trouble believing that there are actually 500 000 people there.

But this works the other way around too, especially when we very rarely find ourselves experiencing big crowds in a way where we can actually count them up. Since our society tends to be one which gains most of its reference points from visual media, we tend to think of 50 000, or 500 000, or 5 000 000 people as "big enough to fill the screen". As a result, most of us don't really grasp how big a crowd that actually is - and perhaps more importantly for a worldbuilder, how much a crowd like that eats, how much space it takes to house and feed them, and how much of a hassle it is to get a crowd like that organised and moving.

This leads to a problem which is particularly prominent in fantasy, especially fantasy which involves a lot of moving armies and big cities. When creators want to show off to the audience the idea that someone's got a really big army, or that a city is really big, they often use arbitrary numbers based on our own reference points for what the size of a really big army or the population of a really big city ought to be. That's how we end up with settings which still maintain medieval standards of technology, logistics, and agriculture which supposedly support armies in the high tens or even the hundreds of thousands. That's how we get medieval fantasy cities which have populations over a million. While the casual observer might find these numbers impressive, anyone who's familiar with what it takes to recruit, equip, feed, and move those hundreds of thousands of soldiers will find their immersion broken as soon as they run into that number. Likewise with anyone familiar with the logistics of actually feeding and maintaining a city of over a million people with nothing but simple machines and muscle power.

Unfortunately, sometimes even using historical or quasi-historical sources for reference points will not help matters. Histories - even respected histories - from before the early modern period tend to embellish the numbers of people, especially the numbers of armies opposed to which ever side the historian in question is taking the side of. This is often done to either to excuse a defeat, or to embellish a victory. The Persians at Thermopylae probably didn't actually have 250 000 men in the field (the actual number was probably a tenth that), because the logistical demands for maintaining a single field army that size is probably beyond the means of pre-railroad infrastructure. For the same reason, the Kingdom of Cao Wei probably didn't deploy 2 000 000 men during the Chibi campaign. Yet those are the numbers that Herodotus and Luo Guanzhong use, to excuse the defeat of the Spartans (and Arcadians, and Thespians) in the first case, and to render the victory of the Shu-Wei coalition even more heroic and improbable in the latter case.

Science Fiction, on the other hand, tends to have the opposite problem. Where fantasy often goes too big, science fiction often goes too small. Used to thinking in terms of our own, very much terrestrial societies which each take up a chunk of a single planet, creators often have a lot of trouble scaling that up to societies which sprawl over multiple habitable worlds, stretched out over distances which, quite frankly, are almost impossible to wrap your head around. 400 000 troops might seem like an impressively sized army within our own frame of reference, but setting a force that size to take over an entire planet with an earthlike population becomes a ludicrous proposition when you remember that recent history has proven a force about that size has proven insufficient to hold down even a small portion of a single continent of our own world. Likewise, 500 km might seem a pretty long ways away, but in the context of interplanetary - let alone interstellar - geography, they are practically two molecules next to each other on the head of the same pin.

So, how do we avoid these pitfalls? The first is simply not to mention scale at all. This is certainly possible for certain kinds of stories, especially ones which don't rely on precise numbers to give a story a sense of place and scale. If you can tell your story just as well by saying an army is "big", a city is "smaller than the capital", or a road is "three weeks travel by foot", then that might be good enough. If the precise nature of the economics and politics of your setting doesn't really affect your story, and if your narrative never really needs to touch on logistical or geographical factors, then you might be able to get away without setting a scale at all. However, such stories will tend to restrict the kind of stories you'll be able to tell, and at some point, you might come to the conclusion that it's better to set that scale after all.

So, how do you set that scale? That depends on precisely the kind of setting you have. Ultimately, the number of people who a city can accommodate, the number of troops it can field at war time, even something as simple as its actual geographical size, all have to do with the technological, economic, and political infrastructure which underpins that society. That means the scale of the elements in your setting is the result of a complex interplay of other factors, all of which need to be settled first. The scale of your fictional setting's elements need to follow from the facts established by that interplay, or else you're going to risk citing numbers which your setting's characteristics will be unable to back up.

Needless to say, this is going to end up being a multi-part series. Next up, I'd be tackling three different aspects of this issue: the scaling of armies, the scaling of populations, and the scaling of societies. If that interests you, then all three aspects will be up for vote next month.

Wanted: Topics for November

Please choose one topic from each of the lists below, and reply with the respective letter and number of your chosen topics in the comments below.

Voting will go until October 21st, 11:59 PM (Pacific Time).

Topics marked with the asterisk (*) have been chosen by backers at the $10-a-month tier. They will be available for voting this month only, unless they are suggested again for December.

Please reply with your choices in the comments below.

A Soldier's Guide to the Infinite Sea

A) Garing, Gutierrez, and Truscott - A History: A brief history of GG&T, from its humble beginnings during the Petty Kingdoms era, through its establishment as a major armsmaking firm during the Wars of Unification, to its current status as the Unified Kingdom's largest gunmaker.

B) The Saintly Martyrs: An overview of the worship of the Saints in the Northern Kingdoms, including biographies of selected Sainted Martyrs, iconography, and cosmology.

C) Old Calligia - What We Know: The Kian poet J'eanne Lieux once said that "The only thing we know about Old Calligia are the lies". While not entirely true, very little of the long-gone northern realm has survived. This essay from the University of San'heu attempts to put together the pieces.

D) Warfare Then and Now: A relatively broad overview of the history of war and warfare in the Infinite Sea, taken from a part of a Callindrian children's book.

E) Edmund Garing, In His Own Words: An autobiographical account of the junior partner of GG&T, edited by the Countess of Welles for her report on the War in Antar.

F) Clerks and Commoners: Selections from a children's book written for the scions of the Tierran nobility, meant as their first real education in the classes and dynamics of the Baneless classes.

G) A Report on Tutors and Tutelage: Commissioned by the Royal University of Aetoria, this report investigates the education baneblooded children receive before they are admitted to the University itself.

H) A Call to Arms to the Faithful of the Tree: A religious tract summarising the worship of the Tree of Life, and calling for a renewed age of religious devotion in an age of Takaran secularism.

I) The Compleat Knight: A somewhat tongue-in-cheek guide to the behaviours expected of a Knight of the Red.

J) The Senior Service: A rather self-serving pamphlet extolling the virtues of the Royal Tierran Navy in the context of the army's new prominence following the Dozen Years' War.

*K) A Register of Honours and Awards: A list of awards and medals given out by the Tierran Crown over the course of its history.

*L) Notes on a Crisis: A collection of private notes and memorandae, penned by Queen Isobel during the first year of her reign.

*M) On the Adoption of the New Rifle: A GG&T memorandum following the Battle of Aetoria, regarding the prospects of introducing a revolutionary new infantry firelock.

*N) On the Receiving of Cavalry: A manual intended to describe the correct means by which infantry might face a cavalry charge.

*O) On Military Banecasting: An overview of the military applications of Banecasting, and the organisation of Banecasters within the Tierran Army.

*P) On The Treatment of the Blood: A brief overview of the station of Banebloods in places where their blood does not automatically render them nobility.

*Q) The Funeral of a Great Man of State: A recounting of the Earl of Leoniscourt's funeral, a description of the guests present, and a summary of its rituals and events.

*R) The Upbringing of the Greats: A look into the raising and education of the aristocracy of Kian and Takara in comparison to the Northern Kingdoms.

An Adventurer's Guide to the Fledgling Realms

1) Festivals of the Fledgling Realms Pt 2:  Festivals from outside the Concordat's borders, like the Iron Marches and the Island-Cities.

2) On Creeds and Cults Pt 3: Folk traditions, cults, and other "marginal" belief systems throughout the Concordat.

A Creator's Guide to Writing and Worldbuilding

A1) Using Genre Conventions: Every genre comes with its own traditions and conventions. Some of them can be helpful, others... less so. How do you tell the former from the latter?

A2) A Question of Scale: Bigger isn't always better. Just because you can make your world big doesn't mean you should. How much do you actually need?

October Content Update: Subplots Within Plots

I'm not a fan of the word "subplot". To me, the term has always implied a certain unbridgeable divide between the "main progression" of a narrative and those parts which lay outside of it. With that distinction comes a danger of seeing anything not part of the "critical path" (the one which leads the protagonist from their beginning to their final confrontation) as something to be disconnected from the main themes of the narrative, to be allowed a certain degree of narrative license, or worse - to be phoned in entirely - all of which would end up detracting from the quality of the narrative as a whole. Thus, I don't so much like to think about the distinction between main and subplots as a dichotomy, so much as a continuum, where even going off the well-travelled way of the critical story path leads to elements which don't distract from the main narrative themes, but reinforce them, giving more emotional weight to the characters' actions, and providing context which can only serve to allow the audience to better inhabit the protagonist's world.

In a way, even the main plot of most good stories is made up of subplots. Sure, there's a long-term goal which is supposed to set up the broad arc of the narrative, but to achieve that goal and to keep the audience's attention, the narrative provides intermediate goals, ones which gives the protagonist immediate challenges and gives them immediate motivations. As a result of concluding or advancing these "stages" of a "main" plot, the protagonist and the audience gain insight into the setting which might help contextualise the conflict or the stakes they're facing overall, or provide them with tools or allies to help them in achieving their long-term goal, or alter the protagonist in a way which brings them closer to the state they need to be when that final confrontation occurs, for better or worse. All these things keep the audience engaged and provides a meaningful sense of advancement to the story, without skipping too quickly to the end or disconnecting the audience from the fictional perspective they're supposed to be inhabiting.

There are even narratives where these intermediate stories are the main point of the story in the first place, because the long-term goal of that narrative is not to prepare a protagonist for a final confrontation, but to show off a given setting or the aspects of a certain character for the audience. By using these intermediate story stages as individual, self-contained narratives about a certain theme or character trait, a creator can build a portrait of a place or a time or a person without resorting to direct exposition - and they can do it in a way which keeps the audience engaged. While most narratives need a main plot thread to tie all the intermediate stories together, those which exist as a study of a character or a setting or a theme can use those intermediate stories to keep the audience entertained (or at least engaged) while keeping any overarching "main" plot in the background or non-existent altogether.

Such stories - character studies, or travelogues, or what ever they might be called – serve as probably the most obvious demonstration of what I mean when I say the main plot of a story is a chain of subplots. Each of these intermediate stories might one link in the chain of the “critical” path, but it also offers more immediate change, more immediate goals, and generally elements which the audience can engage with on smaller-scale terms than the main plot. At the same time, it still alters the state of the setting, either by directly changing the circumstances of the world, or by changing the protagonist's - or the audience's - perspective on that world. These aren't just the elements of a good intermediate story within a main plot, but also the elements of a good subplot, one which serves to strengthen, rather than distract from the impact of the main narrative arc.

This is kind of a difficult thing to define beyond those rather nebulous terms. It's probably easier in this case to understand what it means by giving examples of bad subplots. 

Take, for example, the often-maligned "superfluous romance subplot" in a lot of media which don't have romance as the main function of the main plot. This isn't a crack at the romance genre as a whole, a lot of people love to experience romance plots for very good reasons. However, because romance is seen as such a commonly appealing aspect of a story, it's the sort of subplot which most often gets added into a non-romance genre narrative. This can be done well, in a way where the arc of the romance itself serves to change the way the protagonist or the audience approach the main course of the plot. In other cases, however, it can be added in without really integrating it into the rest of the narrative, which means it doesn't affect the main conflict in any meaningful way or form. If the audience already identifies with the protagonist, and is already invested in that protagonist's goals, adding a subplot which doesn't serve to help the protagonist in their goals, affect how they see their antagonist or the world around them in a way which is relevant to their goals, or change them in a way to better (or perhaps worse) tackle the challenges between them and their goals will make that subplot look like a distraction from the "real" action, which means the audience won't see this new subplot as more of a good thing, but something they don't care about which they have to go through to get to something they do care about - an obstacle to their enjoyment.

Another common example comes in certain types of sidequests in open-world games: particularly the kind which involve repeating the same basic set of tasks over and over again without variation and without providing any rewards which deepen or alter the connection between the player character and the setting or "main story quests". This is a slightly better example, in the sense that these sidequests often do at least provide experience or new equipment (or the means to craft or purchase new equipment) which in turn makes their player characters better equipped to face the challenges of the main story - but relying too much on this connection can also lead to a bad reaction from the players. If players are required to engage in sidequests which they don't particularly enjoy and don't connect to the core advertised experience of the game solely to gain the power needed to progress the main story or engage in that core experience, then those sidequests too, will feel like obstacles. If your entire game is intended to offer the fantasy of being a legendary hero destined to fight a world-imperiling evil, then being required to collect bear claws for a local hunter will start to seem like a pointless distraction the tenth time the player's asked to do it.

These are not inherently bad subplots, what makes them bad is their disconnection from the purpose of the main plot elements - which is to say the ones the audience is most emotionally invested in. Thus, the way to "salvage" these subplots is to tie them in to the themes and material of the main plot in a way which makes the audience believe that advancing these subplots will advance the main plot as well. This means that the emotional investment the audience already has in the main plot will become shared by the subplot and the subplot’s storytelling will deepen the audience’s investment in the main plot. If the protagonist's romantic counterpart proves to be a valuable ally in the narrative's main conflict, or provides insight into the nature of that conflict which changes the way which the protagonist engages in it, or even simply provides an explanation to the audience which makes the protagonist's actions more clearer, then the audience will come to see that formerly meaningless romantic subplot as something which adds depth and dynamism to the main plot.

Games have even more tools with which to tie subplots to the core experience. Players aren't just following a protagonist around, but inhabiting their existence. They aren't just being shown a story, but given a chance to live the entire fictional experience of a different person with different roles in a different society. This means that in a way, there are two key centres of emotional investment in a game: that of the main storyline, and that of the core fantasy of the protagonist's role, be that the role of a legendary swordmaster, an action hero, a high-ranking military commander, a special forces operator, or a crime lord. While the main plot and this core fantasy are obviously meant to reinforce each other (the fantasy providing the circumstances for the main plot) sidequests can serve to reinforce both. 

Say you're writing a game which puts you in the role of a mercenary in a low fantasy setting. Say this role gives you a central conflict - for example, revenge against an employer who reneged on your contract and chose to betray you instead. With these initial points of reference you could create a sideplot like a more typical mercenary contract, one which not only demonstrates the everyday life of a mercenary, but also might reward you with allies or tools which will prove helpful when you finally face down your player character's antagonist. With the former, you integrate this sideplot into the game's core fantasy (being a mercenary), while also making it a reinforcing element of the game's main plot (gather enough power to confront and take down your enemy).

You'll notice that in both these cases, these subplots could easily be the “intermediate stage” of a main plot as well. Ultimately, I think that's how a subplot should be - a romance which gives the protagonist the knowledge or the state of mind to overcome their obstacles, or an adventure to secure the player character the power they need to face the game's final challenge - a part of the story which seems just as important and just as consequential as the main plot, to the degree that subplot and main plot blur together. 

Of course, what this actually entails relies on the medium, tone, and the specifics of the story you want to tell. As always, I can really only speak in general guidelines if I want to cover the whole broad range of narrative design. In the end, a guide or tutorial might offer some help in making a story work, but that story itself still has to come from the mind of its creator.

October Content Update: In Defence of the Tierran Dragoon

A LETTER IN DEFENCE OF THE TIERRAN DRAGOON

By a Confidante of the Gonfaloniere

It has become the fashion in recent years, for men of certain martial pretensions to make comment upon the conditions and the conduct of the war so recently concluded in Antar, betwixt the League which rules that country and the Unified Kingdom of Tierra. Although such efforts may have perhaps originated from some enterprise with the laudable object of improving the defenses and the potency of our own little island's soldiery, it has now quite evidently apparent to any informed observer that such an exercise become a competition in sophistry and posturing. Having exhausted all profit and advantage in demonstrating knowledge of how things were done, it has now become the mode for those engaged in such commentary to instead demonstrate themselves better than the original. Thus we are treated to the abject sight of men who have never set foot on a battlefield now gainsaying the decisions of veteran fighting officers, of those who have barely touched the swords at their sides criticisng the actions of men who have waded through blood, and even those singular figures who see fit to boast that we with our little parade army of less than a thousand are a more martial and formidable race than they who have but recently fielded an army fifty times that number - and brought to heel a Great Power of the Infinite Sea.

Nowhere has this become more prevalent than in the subject of the composition of the Tierran Army. In many ways, the Unified Kingdom's army is in appearance and equipment and organisation not so different from our own. Its history and origin are likewise similar, having been formed originally from companies of militia raised for local defence and embodied into regiments during times of war. This similarity has evidently encouraged certain individuals of their great virtuosity in military theory. Although they may themselves have little experience of soldiering and even less of open warfare, they have taken it upon themselves to step uninvited into the boots of the General Officers of the Tierran King, ordering and reordering the ranks and dispositions of his veteran, battle-tested army into configurations which they - in all of their experience with such matters - consider more efficacious in winning a war which the army in question has already managed to win quite handily without such modification.

One formation subject to particular attention has been the Tierran Royal Dragoon Regiment, a force originally raised as mounted infantry during the time of the King Alaric. Originally raised as a force of mounted infantry, this regiment was heavily employed during the war in Antar, and gained a considerable reputation as not only mounted skirmishers but light horse and light infantry. It proved most efficacious during the early phases of the war in both skirmish and battle. Most famously, it held the Tierran left flank at Blogia, played a major part in the storm of Kharangia, and once again distinguished itself in the action which broke the Antari Prince Khoroibirit's armies outside that same city. In the space of a decade, it has accrued to itself a most illustrious reputation. Yet those who believe themselves to know better would argue that such a force is superfluous to the order of battle of any competently run army - that the Tierran King which has owed so much of his success in battle to such a corps is better off without it. In the spirit of charity, one must assume these arguments have merit, at least in the eyes of their originators.

Whether they possess similar value in the eyes of those of a less elevated perspective is another matter entirely.

For example, the argument is made that a regiment of Dragoons trained in the Tierran style must be useless as cavalry, for being only trained to act and think and fight in the saddle only half the time, it lacks the skill and mentality to properly engage with an opposing element of dedicated horse, which may boast not only a training regimen entirely devoted to fighting from the saddle, but also the correct mentality for cavalry actions - an element which has been much vaunted but has been defined in so many disparate ways that one must wonder if it is a truly tangible factor at all. Regardless of such minor quibbles as the definitions of the terms involved, those who make the argument do so adamantly: that dedicated cavalry will trounce Dragoons in the saddle, as surely as the sun rises and sets.

This may come as some surprise to the officers and men of the Tierran Dragoons, who have on multiple occasions met and routed much larger forces of Antari cavalry in mounted combat.

In truth, it would seem the focus of training does not quite seem to matter quite so much as the method and the duration. Having been obliged to fight fully mounted and on foot, the Tierran Dragoons have endeavoured to simply train twice as long so that they might better fulfill their obligations in both aspects. This seems to have provided an additional advantage, in the sense that by training longer, they have had more time to grow accustomed to those aspects of soldiering which are common to both corps of infantry and cavalry: the prompt receipt and response to orders, movement in close and open order, and the confidence which comes from trust that ones' comrades are capable of their appointed tasks and that together the whole of the corps is more than capable of mastering the enemy. Against the Antari - who seem to have neglected almost all of these factors save for the traditional skills of horsemanship and individual riding - the results have been evident.

Even if the Dragoons were not maintained and fielded at such a high standard, their utility as cavalry would not be so small as some would claim. Most of a cavalry force's duties do not require proficiency in mounted combat at all. To reconnoitre before the head of an army, to make contact with the enemy's picquets and maintain ones' own, to maintain lines of communication, to charge the flanks of enemy foot, to ride them down when they break, and escort shipments of high priority - these tasks simply require that a man be armed and capable of riding a horse at a greater speed than a man afoot without falling out of the saddle. Even if these were the only qualifications possessed by a Dragoon, he would still be of use as cavalry - perhaps more of use than a great number of his detractors.

Stymied from the saddle, these most experienced and able commentators then condescend to dismount: perhaps the Dragoons might make passable cavalry, but they make poor infantry. It is the obverse of the previous argument, and one refuted in the same manner. During the war in Antar, the Dragoons have proven themselves quite capable of skirmishing on foot, and even facing enemy infantry in close order. Their training in such fighting might not have been as focused as that of dedicated foot, but it was evidently quite enough to rout Antari foot possessed of no training at all.

Undeterred, the more astute of worthy commentators take another tack, that the weapons and accoutrements of the Dragoon make him unsuitable for fighting on foot. While this might be the case were Dragoons intended to be deployed as infantry of the line, it seems the men responsible for the deployment of such a force were not quite so deficient in mind as to make that decision. Instead, the Tierran Dragoons have been traditionally deployed on foot as skirmishers, firing from cover to delay or harass an enemy from a distance - a task which their equipment makes them quite suitable for. True, the lack of bayonet and long-barrelled musket to mount it upon may seem like a deficiency, but those who make note of such a lack seem themselves to lack the comprehension that such equipment is solely of use for the purpose of repelling cavalry - a requirement which a force of Dragoons might just as easily fulfil by an expedient which has somehow evaded the attention of some commentators - namely that of mounting their horses and drawing their sabres.

Thus rousted from their outworks, the worthy and most learned commentators retreat to their final redoubt, that of economy. Having established that it requires twice as much time in training and exercise to maintain a Dragoon regiment as an equal of both its counterparts in thoroughbred cavalry and infantry, it is thus argued that it would simply be more economical to maintain two separate regiments. With the vehemence of a child or a card sharp who insists that adding three and three make for a pair of threes and not six, they maintain that there is no need for such an 'amphibian' corps, if for the same cost one might have two regiments instead of one.

Unfortunately, such an argument does possess a certain slight oversight, one which no doubt would have required the perspicacity of a Takaran sage to uncover: namely that two regiments of men draw two regiments worth of pay, rations, and accoutrements - surely a thing which any intelligent observer could be excused for neglecting, for it is as imperceptible a quibble as the wetness of the sea or the coldness of snow.

Those of more extraordinary capacities of thought - those who might perhaps be able to count to twelve without aid of their fingers - might instead come to the conclusion that a regiment of Dragoons in the Tierran model offer not only the capabilities of two regiments at the cost of the upkeep of a single such corps, but may also possess additional capabilities which two separate regiments might be unable to match. As a result, a force of Dragoons might advance to a position mounted, and then dismount to harass the enemy before he might react. A force of Dragoons might skirmish with a screen of enemy skirmishers, and then mount to ride them down when they break. A force of Dragoons might conduct patrols ahorse with at far greater remove from the main force of any opposition, then dismount and hold advantageous ground as infantry should any be found - whilst sending a mounted courier to inform their commander in chief with more expedition than any messenger might do so on foot.

Given such observations, it may perhaps be said that in attempting to prove the superfluity of the Tierran Dragoon, those certain interested parties have indeed proved its utility instead. As the gentlemen in question are no doubt men of reason, motivated solely by a desire to take the lessons of a foreign war to better the defence of our own little island, I would encourage them to put these conclusions to constructive use. Indeed, instead of arguing against the existence of a Dragoon regiment in an army of a wholly different country, perhaps they might put their efforts to better use - in raising a force of such Dragoons for our own.

October Content Update: Creeds and Cults Pt 2

CREEDS AND CULTS PT 2

It ought to come as no surprise that the people of the Island-Cities revere the sea. Indeed, the people of Fiore, Mazzare, Arran, and Isonza owe much of their wealth, safety, and prosperity from that great stretch of blue which surrounds the walls of their cities. Through its schools of fish and great water-beasts, the sea nourishes the residents of those cities, and allows them to grow to an extent which the scant farmland available would have never allowed. Without the prevailing winds that blow across the waters, the great merchant houses of Fiore would have never even come close to achieving the wealth they now possess, wealth which is shared one way or another with its rivals and neighbours. Perhaps most of all, the sea serves as a bulwark greater than any curtain wall, a moat wider and more treacherous than anything dug by human hands - one which kept the squabbling and divided Island-cities safe from even the mighty powers of the Flowering Court.

Yet those who make their lives by or on the sea know that the harvest of such boons often exacts a terrible toll. Water-beasts may feed folk, but they just as easily feed on those folk caught within their grasp. The steady winds which carry the lifeblood of commerce can just as easily whip up storms capable of destroying entire convoys of merchant ships - and the great waters which bar the passage of invading armies only speed those of invading fleets.

Given the ability to bestow such great gifts and such terrible curses, it would be all too easy to understand why the people of the Island-Cities see the sea as having a divine and supernatural aspect, and to lavish it with offerings and worship in the hopes that the sea favours them, their families, and their cities in turn.

Yet it would be a misconception to say that the people of the Island-Cities worship the Sea as a God, for such a description brings to mind the idea of a being separate from the world - a master with the mortal realm as its servant. No, instead it is perhaps more accurate to say that the people of the Island-Cities see the sea as the true embodiment of the universe itself, with all other aspects of existence - land, air, trees, animals, even people - as mere ornaments on the skin of the body of the world.

Thus can an Islander's entire conception of the world be encompassed by the sea, its functions, and its ancillaries. When the sea absorbs rainwater and the outflow of rivers, it drinks. When its waves wash away rock and sand, or when animals and folk drown within its waters, it eats. When pools dry up and evaporate, it sweats. Storms represent the sea's rage. Calm waters, its placidity. Winds are its outward breath, floes of ice, its extremities, and all other things merely extraneous to its vital functions.

One might note that there is little room at all for land in this reckoning - something which is perhaps understandable for a people who live surrounded by and make their lives from water. To the orthodox believers of the All-Encompassing Sea, land and all those who live upon it are mere parasites who subsist off the sea's bounty. When humans catch fish from the sea, it is seen as no different from a tick drawing blood from a horse - and likewise, just as a tick which takes too much blood is often swatted away, the rages of the sea are seen as a result of an organism which has grown frustrated by the exactions of the small parasites upon its body - of beings who take from the waters, but give nothing in return.

Thus we come to the main function of the religious strictures and authorities of the Island-Cities - to return to the sea what has been taken, and thus maintain the placidity of the water so that humans may continue to fish, trade, and make war upon its surface. The most important element of this concept of "returning" is that of funerary rites, for a human being is seen as having absorbed the worth of all which they have taken from the sea - every fish eaten, every breath of wind taken, and every drop of fresh water wrested from a rainstorm or stream before it can rejoin the salty lifeblood of the sea. As a result, when that person dies, it becomes a duty to return all of that withheld worth to the sea as if it were a loan repaid - with interest, as is the custom of the Island Cities with such things. Thus, the body is wrapped in canvas and weighted down with iron so that the sea may gain more than what was temporary taken, and thus see the continued existence of humanity upon its surface as a profitable enterprise.

In addition to these fundamental duties, the religious authorities - who are called Wavekeepers in Arran, Seawatchers in Fiore, and Deepwardens in Mazzare - carry on other tasks associated with the sea based on their city of origin. In Fiore, they maintain the city's many canals and waterways to ensure that the city is never too far removed from the essence of existence in the roiling sea. In Arran and Isonza, they also serve to collect the bones of fish and other discarded material to be returned to the waves. In Mazzare, they alone reserve the right to draw fish from the sea, seeing such work as both a sacred rite, and a convenient way of maintaining control over the city's supply of food.

Despite these differences however, the religious authorities of all cities, towns, and villages maintain an additional duty, that of currying the favour of the sea by offering onto it gifts and other means of tribute - usually in the forms of heavy metals such as gold and iron. This is seen as a task of utmost importance, for it is believed that such offerings can determine whether a coming season's sea conditions favour a given community or not. As a result, the quality and the frequency of these offerings are considered the difference between bountiful catches and nothing at all - between a storm to scatter an enemy fleet, or a dead calm to strand a city's own. As all are believed to benefit from a well-received offering or suffer in the consequence of a paltry one, it is thus considered the responsibility of all in a given community to donate what is required of them. This is again done in different ways depending on the city. Fiore taxes every merchant house based on the number of ships they own. Isonza and Arran maintain harbour and sound tolls, and the Mazzarines are rumoured to simply tax everyone.

Naturally, the resources needed to gather and then offer up such vast amounts of material requires both strong arms to carry it, and sharp blades to compel obedience when necessary. Thus, the governments of each Island-City often work closely with the religious authorities - who in cities like Mazzare are themselves part of the city government. Likewise to ensure that offerings are properly organised and catalogued, the religious officials themselves exist under a strict hierarchy. This, ironically, means that those at the top of such a structure are able to take advantage of the great wealth which flows through their hands, often taking more than is strictly needed to maintain their facilities and priestly orders. However, the history of the Island-Cities is full of the cautionary tales of those priests who thought they could get away with cheating the waves, only to have their city suffer under the fury of an enraged sea.

Thus is described the orthodox and most well-established means by which the people of the Island-Cities revere the sea, but it is not the only one. It is, of course, almost impossible for those who live surrounded by the sea not to consider it a force of great power and significance, how that force is respected and worshipped does differ, especially among isolated communities who live outside regular contact with - and therefore outside the reach of - the authorities which headquarter themselves within major cities.

Most of these differences in worship are relatively minor, and pertain solely to personal conduct. One sect, for example, sees any living thing taken out of the sea as a form of theft which is punishable by the fury of the waves. As a result, they only eat the flesh of fresh-water fish and land animals. Another considers the rivers, lakes, and streams to be just as much a part of the sea's body as the waves themselves, and thus will only drink from barrels of collected rain water and abjure the flesh of water-beasts entirely. These sects tend to be more strict in their interpretations of proper conduct rather than more lax, for all understand the fundamental danger of inciting the ire of the sea, and no community - especially one small enough and isolated enough to rely on the sea entirely for its existence - is willing to tempt that wrath by testing the limits of the divine water's patience.

These deviations from orthodoxy are generally tolerated by the authorities as little more than regional idiosyncrasies. So long as the individuals in question continue to give up their contribution for the greater offerings of the season, they are left to worship as they please. Less accepted are those who break with orthodoxy by individually making their offerings to the sea, instead of through the organised apparatus of the religious bureaucracy. Those who adhere to such a practise often claim that an individual's relationship with the sea is a personal affair. The prevailing opinion does not accept such reasoning. As such separate offerings cannot be recorded and thus cannot be measured, there is always the danger that a village, town, or city as a whole might end up mis-accounting the amount which they have offered up for a season, drawing anger of the sea - and since a storm or a calm or a drought affects entire regions rather than individuals, those who deviate from this norm are seen as those who would harm the whole of the community for the sake of their own heterodox beliefs. 

As a result, such dissenters are invariably exiled to far inlets and distant rocks, where they are kept under interdict: to live in solitude or in small communities of like-minded individuals so that the consequences of their heretical beliefs do not bring down the wrath of the sea upon those who still adhere to orthodoxy. Isolated from commerce, from fellowship, and often from even the most tenuous communication, such dissenters rarely last long before they die out or are swallowed up by the waves - something which only serves to reinforce the importance of maintaining organised offerings to those who remain orthodox.

And thus, the current state of affairs continues as it is, with the cities as great bastions of orthodoxy, upheld by both religious and secular power - something which seems unlikely to change so long as the Island-Cities continue to base their fortunes, their sustenance, and their power in war upon the favour of the All-Encompassing Sea.

Topics for October

Please choose one topic from each of the lists below, and reply with the respective letter and number of your two chosen topics in the comments below.

Voting will go until September 21st, 11:59 PM (Pacific Time).

Topics marked with the asterisk (*) have been chosen by backers at the $10-a-month tier. They will be available for voting this month only, unless they are suggested again for November.

Please reply with your choices in the comments below.

A Soldier's Guide to the Infinite Sea

A) Garing, Gutierrez, and Truscott - A History: A brief history of GG&T, from its humble beginnings during the Petty Kingdoms era, through its establishment as a major armsmaking firm during the Wars of Unification, to its current status as the Unified Kingdom's largest gunmaker.

B) The Saintly Martyrs: An overview of the worship of the Saints in the Northern Kingdoms, including biographies of selected Sainted Martyrs, iconography, and cosmology.

C) Old Calligia - What We Know: The Kian poet J'eanne Lieux once said that "The only thing we know about Old Calligia are the lies". While not entirely true, very little of the long-gone northern realm has survived. This essay from the University of San'heu attempts to put together the pieces.

D) Warfare Then and Now: A relatively broad overview of the history of war and warfare in the Infinite Sea, taken from a part of a Callindrian children's book.

E) Edmund Garing, In His Own Words: An autobiographical account of the junior partner of GG&T, edited by the Countess of Welles for her report on the War in Antar.

F) Clerks and Commoners: Selections from a children's book written for the scions of the Tierran nobility, meant as their first real education in the classes and dynamics of the Baneless classes.

G) A Report on Tutors and Tutelage: Commissioned by the Royal University of Aetoria, this report investigates the education baneblooded children receive before they are admitted to the University itself.

H) A Call to Arms to the Faithful of the Tree: A religious tract summarising the worship of the Tree of Life, and calling for a renewed age of religious devotion in an age of Takaran secularism.

I) The Compleat Knight: A somewhat tongue-in-cheek guide to the behaviours expected of a Knight of the Red.

J) The Senior Service: A rather self-serving pamphlet extolling the virtues of the Royal Tierran Navy in the context of the army's new prominence following the Dozen Years' War.

*K) A Richshyr Memorandum: A report from Takaran Military Intelligence (not Imperial Intelligence) regarding developments in Tierran gunsmithing.

*L) The Minor Pantheons: An overview of those Saints not included in the major pantheons of the Blue, Red, and Green.

*M) In Defence of the Tierran Dragoon: A Callindrian circular (believed to be authored by Contessa Melisande di Contarini (nee Ibreveille) under a pseudonym) defending the tactical utility of the "Tierran Model" of Dragoon regiment.

*O) Dread in a Time of Peace: A collection of notes and reflections from the hand of King Miguel  of Tierra in the years following the end of the War in Antar.

*P) The Confidential Notes of Marcus d'al Havenport: The diaries of the younger brother of the Duke of Havenport, following his marriage.

An Adventurer's Guide to the Fledgling Realms

1) Festivals of the Fledgling Realms Pt 2:  Festivals from outside the Concordat's borders, like the Iron Marches and the Island-Cities.

2) On Creeds and Cults Pt 2: A description of the religious practises of the Island-Cities.

A Creator's Guide to Writing and Worldbuilding

A1) Using Genre Conventions: Every genre comes with its own traditions and conventions. Some of them can be helpful, others... less so. How do you tell the former from the latter?

*A2) Subplots Within Plots: How do you tell six stories at once? How do you tie them together into a unified theme and narrative? How do you organise subplots?

September Content Update: Die, Villain!

So far, we've talked about conceptualising our antagonists in a way which would make for a good story, introducing them in a way which hooks your audience, and developing them to fit a broader narrative arc and emotional tone.

Now it's time to kill them.

I'm talking figuratively here. Not every story needs to end with the antagonist lying broken in a pool of their own blood. Not every character introduced as an antagonist needs to end the story dead, but when it comes to most stories, the main conflict at the heart of the narrative arc needs to be resolved, which means the conceptual form of the antagonist needs to cease to exist. There are, generally speaking, three ways this might happen.

1: The antagonist is rendered incapable of opposing the protagonist, either through the intervention of an outside force (the killer gets caught by the police), the successful removal of the antagonist's presence from the protagonist's physical or mental presence (the protagonist escapes the killer, or the protagonist is able to overcome their traumatic memories of the killer through therapy) or the physical destruction of the antagonist (the protagonist blows the killer away with a 12-gauge).

2: The antagonist is made to reconsider their interests in a way which no longer places them in opposition to the protagonist. By no longer obstructing the protagonist, they cease to become an antagonist, much like how a gun pointed at your head ceases to be an imminent threat when it is unloaded, disassembled, and put in a locked display case.

3: The antagonist wins and secures their goal at the protagonist's expense, thereby rendering the conflict resolved by removing the protagonist from the narrative through any of the means already enumerated in point 1. The antagonist ceases to be an antagonist because they no longer need to oppose the protagonist, who has been rendered narratively irrelevant.

But how do we know which one of these approaches to take? Well, I'm sure you're probably tired of reading this, but once again, it depends on the kind of antagonist you have, the kind of story you want to tell, and the sort of emotional impact you want to leave on your audience.

For example, let's start by breaking down some of those approaches in more detail, and talk about the mechanics of "killing" your antagonist, and about how the way you kill your antagonist both help define the emotional tone and themes of your narrative, and the character of your antagonist and protagonist.

A digression first: I should note here that how your antagonist dies does define the character of both your antagonist and protagonist. Just as the audience will remember their introduction to a character, they will also remember their last moment with that character. Likewise, if that character is in conflict with another, how that second character reacts to the first character's end also makes an impact: this will be the last time their mutual conflict is addressed in the narrative after all. If a character's introduction is an icebreaker's prow, smashing through to get the audience's attention and interest, this final confrontation are the icebreaker's propellers, leaving a long wake behind full of churning emotions which stay with the audience long afterwards - if nothing else because there will be no more moments of conflict to replace them.

So how do you set up this final confrontation? The classic approach would be to go for a grand showdown: the protagonist and the antagonist meet sword to sword, or gun to gun, or spell to spell, or army to army. They fight, one side wins, the other ceases to exist. There's a simplicity to this sort of confrontation, both mechanically and morally, which may recommend itself to concluding certain types of conflicts. For example, if your antagonist was established as a dangerous force, then showing the protagonist besting them through risk and effort will show how much stronger the protagonist has gotten, whether through training or equipment or the power of friendship, making for a satisfying arc. Likewise, if you want to end your conflict on a tragic note, a fight to destruction against a sympathetic antagonist - one which might still be redeemed - would end things with a sense of melancholic grandeur, as the antagonist chooses destruction over giving up their own doomed cause.

Of course, you could always actually redeem that antagonist, either at the end of that fight, or without that fight at all. If the antagonist in question is the one the audience is supposed to sympathise with, this makes for a satisfying conclusion as well: understanding triumphs over blind hatred, unity triumphs over division, the common good triumphs over personal ambition.

However, that doesn't mean you can't rule out "redemption" for a character who doesn't "deserve" it. One way to really leave a bitter taste in your audience's mouth is to make it necessary for the antagonist to accept an alliance with a thoroughly unsympathetic character, for the sake of a greater good or a longer-term agreement or any other number of reasons. Your audience won't like this one bit, any more than most of us like how the Americans and Soviets recruited Nazi and Imperial Japanese war criminals through projects like Paperclip and Osoaviakhim - but if that's the emotional note you want to leave your audience on, if you want them of the ethical cost of defeating a greater evil or the moral ambiguity of the protagonist's own allies, then this is a good way to do it.

Speaking of the Second World War, that brings us to another dimension: that the antagonist and the protagonist aren't just individuals, but representatives of different ideas or ethos or ideology. This necessarily has to be the case, because otherwise there would be no moral difference between the two. The antagonist has to believe in something which puts them in conflict with the protagonist. In most cases, that thing is supposed to seem morally inferior to what the protagonist believes in. If this matter of morality is a central theme, then the antagonist and the protagonist also serve as exemplars of their ideologies, and their final confrontation is thus the confrontation of the results of one ideology against the other.

In such a case, it can be narratively satisfying to have a wholly uneven confrontation, one where one side has already lost - because ultimately the outcome is not about whether the individual is stronger, but whether the ideology which that individual espouses is stronger. In the leadup to the Second World War, the fascists of Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan derided their opponents as weak and corrupt. They claimed that Liberalism and Communism lacked the strength of will to stand up to them and that their victory was assured. In reality, the opposite was the case: the infighting, fanatical ultranationalism, and genocidal racism of the fascist regimes not only made them weak, but sent them headlong into fights they lacked the material resources to win. The Second World War ended with the Red Army annihilating an outnumbered, outgunned, and outmanoeuvered Wehrmacht and taking Berlin - and with the United States Army Air Corps dropping two miniature suns on Japan. These were not equal confrontations by any means, but they didn't have to be. The confrontation itself was a foregone conclusion intended to demonstrate a truth: that Communism and Liberalism (even as greatly flawed as they were) remained stronger than Fascism.

It's very rare that history offers us so neatly packaged a narrative arc - maybe that's why we end up making so many movies about it.

As you've probably noted, the emotional impact that a final confrontation has is reliant primarily on the nature of the antagonist in question, their relationship to the protagonist and to the audience, and the kind of story this has been so far. With the examples I've provided, you can create a simple frame of reference with which to understand what kind of final confrontation - what kind of ending your your antagonist - works best for the kind of story you want to tell and the kind of antagonist whose narrative arc you want to conclude.

This has certainly been a lengthy series - perhaps far lengthier than what I was originally intending. That being said, I still think what I've covered through it really only works as a bare framework which can be purposed for your own ends. I don't know what kind of story you plan on writing, what sort of antagonists and protagonists you will create, or what sort of emotional tone you plan on going for, but you do - and hopefully, what I've covered these past few months will help provide some of the tools you need to ensure you hit what you're aiming for.